


Beyond Heroes: Of Sunshine and Red Lyrium

by LadyNorbert



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition - The Descent DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Haven (Dragon Age), Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Inquisitor Bethany Hawke, Letters, Male-Female Friendship, Oblivious Varric Tethras, POV Varric Tethras, Skyhold, Slow Burn, The Randy Dowager Quarterly, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras Is So Done, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Warden Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 158,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert
Summary: When Varric Tethras (rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong) is finally introduced to the only survivor of the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he's horrified to discover that it's none other than Bethany Hawke. With her older brother Garrett off as a member of Isabela's pirate crew, and her twin brother Carver serving with the Grey Wardens, Varric reasons that it's his responsibility to protect Bethany as much as possible. Together, they have to survive everything Thedas keeps throwing at them - and at each other. Warning is for later chapters.





	1. Ass-Deep in Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading, and please pardon the lengthy introduction here.
> 
> In this retread of DA:I, Varric is the viewpoint character while Bethany gets proclaimed Herald of Andraste and, later, Inquisitor. I thought it would be really interesting to pursue this line of thinking, because having Bethany in that role changes *so much* about the story owing to her previous interactions with various characters. Plus I adore Varric and Bethany, both as friends and as my Dragon Age OTP, so I really loved the idea of their relationship growing in this manner. 
> 
> It's an AU for many reasons, of course, but among them is the fact that both of the Hawke twins survived the prologue of Dragon Age II and made it to Kirkwall; Bethany was in the Circle and Carver became a Grey Warden. Carver's role in the story was partly inspired by a comic done by Tumblr's "tesssaforsythia" - I want to give the artist appropriate credit.
> 
> Many, MANY thanks are in order here. Tumblr's "adventuresinastrangeworld" helped me come up with the title (the story was originally called "Varric Tethras and the Continual Nervous Breakdown"). AuroraBorealia, AlyssAlenko, and Laura E Moriarty have served as beta readers and their input has been utterly priceless. The members of the Writers of Thedas Discord server are jewels for having given me so much encouragement, as are a few members of the Discord server for the Dragon Age subreddit. And of course, my sincere gratitude to Mary Kirby, Varric's *real* writer, for my autographed copy of Hard in Hightown (yes really) and for just generally tolerating my shenanigans on Twitter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric learns just who the survivor of the Conclave explosion was. Panic ensues.

“So let me get this straight,” said Varric. “Out of everybody who was in the Conclave, exactly _one_ person is still alive. She stumbled out of one of those weird green holes in the fabric of reality and collapsed, and your soldiers have her in the dungeon under the Haven Chantry?” He paused. “Why does the _Chantry_ have a dungeon in the first place?”

They were in Haven, the little village near the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Well, it used to be a village, anyway; then the Hero of Ferelden came along and shook things up with the cultists who had been living there. At some point after that, Divine Justinia had wandered into the place and decided to spend a pile of gold having it renovated, the results being pretty impressive. In more recent days, Cassandra Pentaghast – Seeker of Truth, Right Hand of the Divine, and Walking Storm Cloud – had dragged Varric there to attend the Divine’s Conclave, a last attempt at brokering peace between the warring mages and Templars who had broken from the Chantry. After everything he had personally witnessed in Kirkwall, Varric was pretty sick of both sides of the argument. He’d hoped the Conclave would work; instead, it got blown up, almost right in front of his eyes. As he had stared at the carnage and the bizarre green hole in the sky, he had the most unpleasant case of _déjà vu_ anyone could imagine.

Now, a day later, Cassandra was giving him the latest details about the one and only survivor of the entire mess.

“Never mind that,” replied Cassandra in peevish tones. He sometimes had trouble remembering her ever using any other kind. “Yes, your assessment is accurate. Solas is down there with her now, trying to bring her out of unconsciousness. We need her alive if we are ever to understand what happened.” She shook her head. “All those lives... the Most Holy...”

“Yeah. Look, for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry about your friends.” Varric sighed, wondering for maybe the thousandth time whether he’d known anyone who died in the explosion. Probably he’d at least been acquainted with some of them; he knew a lot of people. “Should we go see if Chuckles is making any progress?”

“You needn’t trouble yourselves,” said a new voice, and they looked up to see the elven apostate approaching. “She yet lives, but that is the only news I can give you. She remains asleep, or something like it.”

* * *

But it wasn’t until a few days later, when he and Solas were aiding Inquisition soldiers in a skirmish against demons, that Varric came to fully understand that the situation was much, much worse than he could have ever thought possible.

As they continued fighting, he became vaguely aware of two dark-haired women joining the fray. One was Cassandra, he knew. The other he dimly identified as a mage, but he was too preoccupied with introducing Bianca to a rage demon to pay them any further attention. Then, once all the demons had been dispatched, Solas grabbed the other woman by her left wrist and somehow used the wonky green thing on her hand to seal the rift. This, then, was the prisoner, finally up and about. That she was a mage, and a woman, was the extent of his knowledge about her identity; in a way, it didn’t really matter who she was, as long as she could maybe do something to fix all this. If the business with her hand and the rift was any indication, it looked like she could. Good news.

He stopped listening too closely as they talked about what had just occurred; he was frankly inured to a lot of weird shit at this point, and he’d killed more than his fair share of demons in Kirkwall even before Blondie had pulled his gambit. As he finished putting Bianca back into her resting position between his shoulder blades, he heard Solas mention something about a theory he’d had that the green thing on the woman’s hand – the Anchor, he called it – could do exactly what it had done, and that he was evidently correct.

“Good to know,” Varric remarked blithely, adjusting his gloves. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” As the mage turned around, he looked up... and felt all the blood drain out of his face when he saw her. She was lovely, terrified, and _entirely_ too familiar.

“Sunshine!?”

“Varric!”

“What are you _doing_ here?”

Without giving him an answer, however, Bethany Hawke stumbled across the broken stones and all but fell on him with a cry of what he could only guess was relief. Despite his shock, his arms went around her, even as he tried to convince himself this wasn’t really happening.

_Andraste’s ass. Why her, of all people?_

Over Bethany’s shoulder, he saw Solas and Cassandra exchange puzzled looks. “Wait – Sunshine?” asked Cassandra. “Isn’t that what you call...”

“Seeker, Chuckles, meet Bethany Hawke – sister to the Champion of Kirkwall. Sunshine, this is Solas, and you’ve already met the Seeker.”

“Maker’s breath!” Cassandra’s eyes went wide as Bethany released Varric, and turned back to face her once more. “You’re – why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked for my name.” Bethany’s voice was calm, though the hand she kept on Varric’s shoulder tightened a fraction.

“I – oh. No, I didn’t, did I?” Cassandra had the grace to look slightly ashamed.

“Never mind that. Sunshine, what are you _doing_ here?” Varric repeated, staring up at her (not too difficult, she was less than a head taller than himself) in dismay. “The last thing I heard, you were helping mage refugees in the Marches! Do your brothers know where you are?”

“I sent letters, but with all this madness I have no idea if they got them.” She shrugged faintly, her countenance distressed. “I _was_ helping the refugees. But the group I was with decided they wanted to come to the Conclave and see what the Divine had to say. I knew you were here, so... it seemed like a good idea at the time.” She gulped. “When Lady Cassandra told me what happened... Maker's breath, Varric, I thought you were dead too.” There were tears in her eyes, and she brushed them away almost irritably, but not before they had their usual softening effect on him.

“I hadn’t gotten to the Conclave yet when it blew,” he explained. “The Seeker and the Nightingale and I were expecting to head there the next day. I was in the village over yonder, hanging out in the tavern – probably doesn’t surprise you. So then what happened?”

“If I knew, I would tell you. But I have barely any memories of it.”

“Should’ve spun a story,” he teased.

“That’s what _you_ would have done,” Cassandra interjected. He fought down a scowl; now that Varric knew who the survivor was, he heavily resented that she had been imprisoned.

Solas cleared his throat. “You should know, Cassandra, that I highly doubt Mistress Hawke could have engineered the explosion by herself,” he said. “Indeed, I have a difficult time imagining any mage as having that sort of power.”

“Understood.” She nodded, her expression clearing.

“We should probably get going,” said Varric.

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra interjected. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but –”

“Have you _been_ in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” He glanced at Bethany. “More importantly, _you_ need me,” he continued, directing the remark at her. “Until this mess gets cleared up, Sunshine, we’re sticking together.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

* * *

With Cassandra resigned and Solas faintly amused, they continued making their way to the forward camp, where they found Leliana – Cassandra’s counterpart in service to the Divine – in a heated debate. Most of the Chantry folks Varric had encountered in Haven had been killed at the Conclave, but this Chancellor Roderick had, for whatever reason, not actually been there at the time. Instead of being grateful for his life, or anxious to save whoever could be saved, he was looking for someone to blame and was apparently of a high enough rank in the Chantry to do it. Varric didn’t fully understand the crux of their argument; but when the ‘glorified clerk,’ as Cassandra called him, started barking orders about taking Bethany into custody, he started paying attention real fast.

The Left and Right Hands were in agreement, however, that Bethany was not going to be arrested – at least, not yet. (Not ever, if the dwarf had any say in the matter, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he would. Cassandra was one of the few people who had any sort of immunity to his rakish charms.) Instead, they wanted to take her back to what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the Breach hovered in the sky; there was a large Fade rift at its base, and they would attempt to seal the Breach by having her deal with this. They disagreed, however, on which was the best way to reach the Temple.

Cassandra was voting for a trek through the valley. It was the quickest route. Leliana countered that it was not the safest, and that a mountain path through some old mining tunnels would be a less dangerous route. There was a patrol which had apparently gone missing in that vicinity.

“What do you think?” Varric blinked, realizing that Cassandra was directing the question to Bethany, who looked as bewildered as he felt.

“You’re asking _me_?”

“You are the one with the mark, and you are the one that we must keep alive,” came the reply.

Mage and dwarf exchanged a glance. “We’ll try the mountains,” Bethany said after a pause. “Maybe we can find those missing soldiers on the way.”

Cassandra looked mildly displeased, but didn’t argue. “Leliana, bring everyone who is still alive into the valley. _Everyone_ ,” she stressed. The Nightingale nodded, and set off in the opposite direction as Bethany began to lead the others toward the mountain path.

Chancellor Roderick merely scowled as they passed him. “On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

“Friendly fellow,” Varric muttered, doing his best to keep up with Sunshine’s stride. “I’ll bet he gets invited to all the best parties. He’s probably wildly popular in Orlais.”

In spite of herself, Bethany chuckled. “Do you suppose he’s tried the cheese plate at Chateau Haine?”

“Or the ham that tastes like despair. Oh, to be that young again.”

“We’re not _that_ old, Varric.”

“I don’t know, Sunshine, I’m pretty sure everybody’s aged a few years in the last few days. Maybe even you.”

They trekked up the mountain, climbing the ladders past the abandoned mining equipment and making their way into the tunnels. That there were demons running amok throughout the tunnels wasn’t terribly surprising, but he felt his heart sink when they stumbled out into the sickly green daylight and found a few corpses on the ground. “I guess we found the missing soldiers,” he grumbled.

“This cannot be all of them,” Cassandra protested.

“Then the others could still be alive?” He winced, hearing the hope spring into his voice. But they’d already lost entirely too many – he didn’t think he had the strength to contend with more deaths. Not yet, anyway.

To his relief, she was right. They soon encountered another Fade rift, and some soldiers dressed in what he supposed must be Inquisition uniforms. They were heavily outnumbered, but still doing their best to fight the demons who emerged from this rift.

As their small group raced forward to help, Bethany gave a cry of pain. Varric immediately skidded to a halt at the sound. “Sunshine! What is it?”

She dropped briefly to her knees, clutching her left wrist with her right hand. “The mark,” said Cassandra, moving to help her stand. “Every time the Breach expands, so does the mark. Her only hope of surviving any of this is for us to seal the Breach.”

“Andraste’s flaming skirts,” Varric muttered. “Come on, Sunshine. We’re gonna have the mother of all stories to tell Hawke and Junior whenever we see them next. Just lean on me if you think you’re gonna fall again, okay?”

Bethany nodded, grimacing as she got to her feet. “I’ll be all right, Varric. Don’t worry.”

“I’m really good at that, Sunshine. You can’t tell me not to do it.”

She didn’t answer; instead, they turned their attention toward the demons streaming from the rift, and saving the remaining soldiers who were valiantly battling for their lives. Before too much longer, she was sealing the tear as she’d done the last few. “You are becoming proficient at this,” Solas complimented her.

The rescued soldiers offered their thanks for their lives before following Cassandra’s directives to get out of range. Varric wasn’t completely sure where she was telling them to go, but they seemed to know, which was the important part. Back to Haven, maybe. He had other things on his mind at the moment, like making sure Bethany survived whatever they were going to make her do in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. _Hawke, buddy, I really wish you were here_ , he thought, watching her. 

* * *

Several minutes later, they entered what was left of the old temple. Varric hadn’t really known what they could expect to find there, but it almost didn’t matter because nothing could have possibly prepared him for it. Even in Kirkwall, even at the lowest point, he’d never seen anything like this. Dead bodies were one thing, but the figures scattered throughout the temple ruins were something else entirely. These were red, and raw, like figurines sculpted from the remains of a bonfire. The faces were gone, so reading expressions wasn’t possible, but some had teeth yet in their silently screaming mouths. The positions of many of the figures suggested pure abject terror; they reached up toward the wrong-colored sky as though begging for help, or they crouched and hugged themselves like they were trying to get warm, or they simply lay on their sides or stomachs. Those, he decided, were probably the lucky ones. Death had come for them so quickly, they’d had no chance to even begin to contemplate the nightmare into which they had suddenly been catapulted.

He glanced at Bethany, who was gazing at the remains of the peace summit with a steely sort of resignation that did little to disguise her sorrow. She turned her face away for a moment, then reached with one hand in the direction where she seemed to estimate he could be found. Varric could guess what she needed, and stepped to position his shoulder where she could grip it. In this formation, they made their way past the scorched bodies and farther into the heart of the temple remains, with Cassandra leading the way and Solas trailing after them. Below them was the largest rift they had yet seen, and a cloudy green tendril spiraled almost like a cyclone up into the sky.

“The Breach _is_ a long way up,” he heard himself say.

Leliana joined them, having picked up a bow at some point and being followed by some other people carrying weapons. Varric didn’t pay too much attention to them; he was more concerned about Bethany, who was staring up at the Breach miles over her head. “This is your chance to end this,” Cassandra told her. “Are you ready?”

“It’s so high,” Bethany managed. “I’m not sure how I can even reach that thing, let alone close it.”

“No. This rift was the first, and it is the key,” Solas insisted. “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Come on, Sunshine,” Varric said, putting a hand briefly on her arm. “Let’s find a way down there and see if we can’t fix this mess.”

She nodded, letting him more or less steer her in the right direction. The green mark on her hand was crackling more wildly than ever, and he could tell that she was doing her level best not to show how much pain she was feeling. None of her companions were able to pay much attention to it anyway, however, because they were all unexpectedly diverted by the _very deep voice_ that seemed to suddenly be coming out of nowhere.

“Now is the hour of our victory... bring forth the sacrifice,” it said. Varric looked around wildly for a source. There was none.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, bewildered.

“At a guess? The person who created the Breach,” Solas replied. He was calm; she wasn’t.

Neither was Varric, but for an entirely different reason as they made their way through the skeleton of the building. Massive rocks of a shimmering blood-red color were erupting through what remained of the ancient walls and floors, and he stared at them in undisguised horror. “You know that stuff is red lyrium, Seeker?”

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it _doing_ here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple,” Solas suggested. “Corrupted it.”

“Corrupted is the word,” Bethany muttered, squeezing Varric’s shoulder.

He nodded at her, then glanced at the others with a huff. “It’s evil. Whatever you do, _don’t touch it._ ”

They found a relatively intact staircase and started making their way down to the ground. “Keep the sacrifice still,” said the weird voice, and Varric wondered just who it was instructing. Then there was another voice, very different from the first; it was female, with a distinctly Orlesian lilt.

“Someone – help me!” it cried, and a distraught Cassandra recognized it as belonging to Divine Justinia.

They reached a sort of ledge at the bottom of the stairs and, having no other recourse, were forced to jump down maybe five or six feet. Varric hated jumping. As he watched, Bethany – who seemed almost like she was in a bit of a daze, or even a trance – walked forward to the large rift. It reminded Varric of raw veridium, the way it was all green and pointy; but raw veridium didn’t hover in the air, nor spontaneously shift and grow larger. The Anchor on Bethany’s hand gave a fierce crack, and she raised it slowly to look at the shimmering mark.

The voice of Divine Justinia repeated her plea for help. This time, it was answered, and the voice that spoke belonged to Bethany herself. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

“That was _your_ voice,” said Cassandra, sounding awed. “Most Holy called out to you. But...”

“Run while you can! Warn them!” The image of an elderly Chantry servant in a tall hat – the Divine, apparently, since the voice was hers – hung suspended above them. Her arms were wreathed in what looked like flames, and her expression was nothing short of petrified. Whatever was going on had all but scared the life out of the poor woman.

“We have an intruder,” said the first voice. There was a sort of phantom silhouette of a weirdly-shaped figure with two glowing eyes, and the voice seemed to come from this; it pointed a finger at Bethany. “Kill her. Now.” Abruptly the visions all disappeared, as the rift flashed violently; a wave of energy lashed out and nearly knocked them all to the ground.

“You _were_ there! Who attacked?” Cassandra demanded, now sounding kind of pissed. “And the Divine, is she...? Was this vision true? _What_ are we seeing?”

“I told you I can’t remember!” Bethany cried. Varric couldn’t decide if she was more angry or frustrated.

“Echoes of what happened here,” said Solas, calmly. He was studying the rift. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” As Varric watched, the elf turned back toward the two women and started talking about how the rift was closed, but not sealed. Bethany, he explained, would need to open it and then seal it properly with the thing that was trying to eat her hand.

“That means demons!” Cassandra called. “Stand ready!”

The soldiers who had accompanied Leliana began gathering nearby; archers fanned out on the ramparts above them, readying arrows to their bows. Varric was only vaguely paying attention, since his focus was almost entirely on Bethany. “You’ll be fine, Sunshine,” he said, hefting Bianca. “Just... get it done as fast as you can, and we’ll take down whatever pops out of the hole. Then maybe we can go home.”

_Andraste’s sanctified garter belt, we just want to go home._

* * *

 

"Cover art" for this story, done by Tumblr's Triaelf9. Thanks to barbex for showing me how to include it!


	2. Now That Cassandra's Out Of Earshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany wakes up a few days after sealing the big rift. Plot ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story has been truly gratifying! Thank you all so much for the kind words, the kudos, and the reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy what I will openly admit is a blatant bit of wish fulfillment on my part. ;)

With the large rift at the temple ruins sealed, Bethany was knocked into what might be called a coma of sorts. It was different from the state she had entered when she escaped the Fade; that had been more like ordinary sleep, albeit deep and exhausted. Sealing the big rift seemed to take something much more out of her. She was unresponsive, but twitched and occasionally spoke, muttering about “too many eyes” and “the grey” and other things which made no sense at all. Varric knew perfectly well just how much nonsense was tumbling from her unconscious lips, because he remained in a chair at her bedside almost continuously throughout the ordeal, and now and then pointed Bianca at someone who tried to suggest he belonged anywhere else.

The robed fellow called Adan was less than thrilled to be cast in the role of healer, since it lay outside of his training; Varric couldn’t blame him. But since the real healer had died at the Conclave, he was all they had, and he was doing the best he could. “I’m not trying to tell you to leave, but you don’t need to be here,” the alchemist remarked during one of his routine visits. “Don’t imagine it makes much difference to her just now.”

“Maybe not, but it makes a difference to me,” the dwarf replied. “She’s my friend, and my best friend’s sister. Since he’s not here, I need to look after her.” _And it’s sort of my fault she’s here at all._

“Suit yourself, I guess.”

It took three days, but Bethany finally came around, just in time to scare the life out of an elven servant who was bringing Varric some lunch. “Well, Sunshine,” he said, once the girl had scurried off to alert Cassandra, “you certainly know how to get everyone’s attention.”

“Have I really been asleep for three days?”

“Yep. And I thought your big brother was a heavy sleeper – turns out he’s got nothing on you.” He helped her to ease into a sitting position and made her drink some water. “When you’re ready to stand, we have to get you up to the Chantry. That Roderick duster is still trying to have you arrested for the Conclave explosion.”

“Varric... what if it really _is_ my fault?”

“Sunshine, there is no force in this world or the next that could persuade me you would ever have done that.”

Once he felt reasonably certain that letting her get out of bed wasn’t a bad idea, Varric helped Bethany to stand and hunted around the little cabin for her things. Neither of them was prepared for the sight which awaited them when they opened the door, however. Practically the entire population of Haven was crowded outside, many with fists pressed to their hearts in an earnest salute. “Looks like someone’s got a fan club,” Varric remarked.

“Maker’s breath. I hardly know what to think – you mean they don’t hate me anymore?” Bethany looked dumbfounded. The crowd parted before them as she walked down the stairs, the dwarf close at hand, and they could hear some of what was being said. Some muttered to each other; others offered their blessings to Bethany. She nodded in serene acknowledgment of their salutes, but her discomfort was evident in the hesitant nature of her stride. At least, it was evident to Varric.

They made their way up the hill to the Chantry, where Cassandra and Leliana were once again locked in an argument with Chancellor Roderick. A lot of it sounded like _blah blah blah_ to Varric’s ears, in truth. He had no difficulty being an Andrastian, in an abstract fashion; but the finer points of the religion didn’t interest him and he had no real desire to pay very much attention. His mind wandered a bit, and for the first time it occurred to him that he needed to send a letter to Hawke at the first opportunity and let him know what was going on with his baby sister.

He had part of the letter mentally written when Roderick stormed out of the room, at which point he guessed maybe he’d better start listening more carefully. Cassandra was appealing to Bethany for help with this newly reborn Inquisition, not least because Sunshine was, after all, the only one capable of sealing the rifts. They discussed it for a few minutes, then shook hands.

“And I suppose that means you’ll be staying too,” Cassandra added, glancing at Varric. Her expression was largely inscrutable; he could only be sure of the resignation.

“You couldn’t get me out of a _chair_ for the last three days,” he retorted. “You’re certainly not getting me out of this strange setup. Like I said back in the valley, as long as Sunshine’s here, I’ll be here. Someone’s got to keep an eye on her.”

* * *

As it had been a few days since Bethany had eaten anything, Varric herded her out of the Chantry and down to Flissa’s little tavern. He’d grown rather fond of Flissa; she was still a little nervous in her role as bartender, and he could read as much in her posture as she flitted around the room checking on her patrons. Just before the Conclave explosion, Varric had used Bianca to pin a ruffian to the wall after the drunk had manhandled the poor girl, something which had only gone unremarked because of the disaster which had immediately superseded it. But Flissa herself remembered it very well, and she welcomed him with a smile. “What can I get for you and your pretty friend? On the house for the Herald of Andraste and my rescuer.”

“I appreciate that. She needs to have some food in her before she and the Inquisition leaders start talking strategy. Nothing too heavy; if you can manage a couple of sandwiches or some soup, that’d be plenty.”

“I think I can do that. Go get yourselves a table by the fire and I’ll bring it to you.”

They did, and Varric gave Bethany a concerned look. “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, how are you holding up?”

“Honestly,” she replied wryly, “there’s still some part of me that doesn’t quite believe all this is happening. After everything in Kirkwall, I thought we’d seen the worst of it.”

He nodded, and sighed. “If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there’s a damn good punchline coming.”

“You and me both.” She shook her head, offering a smile of thanks as Flissa came to the table with a bowl of soup for each of them. “Cassandra said something about introducing me to the Inquisition leaders?”

“You’ve already met two of them. Leliana was with us at the Temple a couple days ago,” he reminded her. “Nightingale’s scary, but she’s on our side so that’s kind of a good thing really.”

“I met her a long time ago, actually. She was a sister at the Chantry in Lothering when the boys and I were growing up,” she mused, pausing for a spoonful of broth. “Oh, Maker. I’m so hungry that this tastes like the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Anyway, yes. Sister Leliana told the best stories and was always so kind to everyone – Carver had a little crush on her, actually. I was shocked to hear later that she helped the Hero of Ferelden, but after seeing her in action with that bow, it makes more sense.”

“She’s a crack shot all right. If she and I had an archery contest, I’m not sure I’d bet on me.” Varric chuckled.

“Who’s the other leader I already know?”

“You’re not going to believe me, but it’s Cullen.”

“Cullen?! You mean the _Knight-Commander_?”

“Former Knight-Commander, but yeah, that’s him.” Varric ate a bit of soup, trying to formulate his thoughts. “He left the Templars. He regrets not treating mages like people and is trying to make up for the part he played in Meredith’s reign of terror. I can’t tell you much more than that, but I can tell you that my bullshit radar isn’t picking up anything. He’s sincere, if nothing else. And the soldiers respect him a lot.”

“Hm.” It was Bethany’s turn to occupy her mouth with soup while she mulled over the whole thing. “Well, I know he always got along decently with Garrett – though maybe Garrett tried not to antagonize him too much since I was in the Gallows. He’s not exactly my _favorite_ person, you realize,” she added, frowning a bit. “He could have done more to protect the mages in the Circle, if you ask me.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Something I don’t know about your time in there?”

“Oh, not me. I didn’t suffer much, apart from missing all of you; the first few years were actually fairly pleasant. Once Garrett became Champion, it changed a lot of things. No one was about to mess with the Champion’s sister,” she explained. “But they weren’t inclined to socialize with her too much either, apart from my own students. I know it could have been much worse. The hard part is knowing that for many others, it _was_. That Ser Alrik...” She shuddered.

Varric scowled, and reached over to pat her hand. “I know. We would have taken him down anyway, but knowing that there was even the slightest chance that _you_ might be in danger... it made the whole thing a lot more satisfying.”

“Ella never did come back to the Circle,” she noted, a bit sadly. “But of course you know that, she wrote to Garrett. Of course, given what came later, it’s probably for the best that she ran. I hope she’s safe, wherever she is; she was such a dear.”

“She made it to her parents, I know that much from the letter Hawke got. I think they were planning to flee Kirkwall, as far as I can remember. Considering everything that happened, that was probably the smartest thing they could have done.”

“Yes, that’s probably true.” Bethany gave herself a small shake. “To come back to my point... he – Cullen, that is – could have been a lot better than he was. But he could have been a lot worse, too. I never heard about him actively hurting mages or anything like that, and he’s barely any older than I am,” she added. “Maybe it was expecting too much to hope he could stand up to Meredith, all things considered. I suppose everyone deserves a second chance. I won’t be the one to deny Cullen his.”

“There’s my Sunshine,” he said warmly. “So Curly’s overseeing the military arm of the whole thing, and then the one you don’t know is Josephine Montilyet, from Antiva. She’s our ambassador, which means she figures out the best way to convince important types that they want to support us and give us food or money or equipment or whatever it is we need at a given moment. Better her than me, that’s all I can say. Sweet girl, though, as long as you don’t cross her. I think you’ll like her.”

Bethany chuckled hoarsely. Her smile was only slightly incredulous, but he could see the glimmer of anxiety in her topaz eyes. “What have we gotten ourselves into this time, Varric?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Sunshine. Finish your soup.” He nudged her bowl. “Whatever’s coming, you’re gonna need your strength.”

* * *

Varric was mildly annoyed that he wasn’t allowed to accompany Bethany into the meeting with the advisory council, but he didn’t protest out loud. Instead, he took advantage of Josephine’s absence to steal some paper and writing implements from her desk, and went back to Bethany’s little cottage to write his letter to Hawke in solitude. His thoughts wandered over the past few years even as his quill wandered over the page.

Garrett Hawke had remained in Kirkwall as long as possible following the downfall of Knight-Commander Meredith. Knight-Captain Cullen took over her role provisionally, being the next-highest ranked Templar in the city-state, and had worked fairly closely with Hawke and Aveline to keep the place from completely falling apart. Curly wasn’t a bad guy, on the whole; moreover, Varric had gleaned a few hints during their acquaintance that there was a trauma of some kind in his past, the nature of which had left Cullen more vulnerable to Meredith’s machinations. It didn’t fully excuse him, of course, but it made his blind eye a little more understandable, and it also made it a little more impressive that he’d come out of the whole mess with the large majority of his sanity still intact.

Bethany knew less of this than either Varric or her brother. She had remained at Hawke’s side as long as she could, but he finally sent her away for her own protection. When Sebastian had at last cemented his own travel plans, and prepared to return to Starkhaven to take up his rightful place as ruling prince, Hawke had appealed to his friend to take Bethany with him. With the Mage-Templar War becoming more widespread with each passing day, putting Sunshine someplace where they couldn’t get to her was the best plan any of them could conceive. Even Varric had to concede that Choirboy had made himself useful for once by agreeing, and he had honestly expected to receive the news sooner or later that Bethany was going to become Princess of Starkhaven. Instead, she’d gone to work herself when the other Circles of Magi rebelled, and used her healing magic and gentle influence to assist those fleeing Templar retribution. That, as she’d told him when they reunited, more or less explained how she’d ended up at the Conclave.

(Varric hadn’t been present for a lot of this. He and Isabela had been recruited to assist Alistair, the King of Ferelden, in his search to find out what had really happened to his father. King Maric had been believed lost at sea somewhere around 9:25 Dragon, but Alistair had decided he needed to know the truth. He found it, too. It was... well, _weird_ never did seem to be a strong enough word for anything.)

Hawke, meanwhile, was ultimately forced to abandon Kirkwall. Rumors began to spread about the Divine considering an Exalted March against the city-state, and Hawke figured that she was probably after him in particular. He’d been mostly innocent in Blondie’s gambit; really, the worst thing of which he was guilty was believing that Anders had told him the truth about what he was doing with those ingredients. But common report treated Hawke as the bogeyman truly responsible for the mess, and for the sake of the people of Kirkwall, it was agreed that they should split up and throw off any trackers. With Bethany safe in Starkhaven, Isabela invited Hawke (and the dog) to join the crew of her new ship, and Fenris also went with them for a time. Merrill focused her attention on the Alienage elves who had been upended by the whole mess; Carver was still with the Wardens and Aveline with the city guard; and Varric himself sat back and waited for something to happen.

That something, of course, ultimately came in the form of Cassandra “stab books first and ask questions later” Pentaghast.

He blew gently on the damp ink glistening on the parchment, and read back over his own words.

 

 

> _Hawke,_
> 
> _I’m not sure where you are just now or how soon you’ll get this. But things have gone really crazy. Remember that Conclave the Divine was putting together to try to get the mages and Templars to stop killing each other? The one I told you I was attending under protest? Yeah, that’s gone all to pieces, and I mean that literally._
> 
> _I hadn’t gotten there yet. Cassandra had dragged my ass across the Waking Sea, but we were late and that’s a damn lucky thing. Nobody knows who, or why, but some nasty piece of work went and blew up the entire Temple of Sacred Ashes and everybody who was inside it. Well, almost everybody. I don’t know how to tell you this, but there was exactly one survivor of the disaster and she’s got the same name as you._
> 
> _Sunshine says she came here with some of those refugee mages she was helping, because they thought maybe the Divine was onto something. I imagine you might want to have words with Choirboy about letting her out of his sight. Anyway, instead of dying along with everybody else, she somehow managed to stumble into the Fade and back out again, with some green glowy thing on her hand as a souvenir. Now there’s a hole in the sky, and little smaller holes all over the place, and she’s the only one who can sew them shut. I’m not going to sit here and claim that I understand how any of it works; what I know about magic would fit in your pocket. All I know is that your little sister is in the middle of this mess and I thought I’d better let you know as soon as I possibly could._
> 
> _We’re with the Inquisition, which is a name I suspect you’re going to start hearing a lot around Thedas. Right now, we’re stationed in the Frostback Mountains, and Bethany’s in a meeting with the people who are running the show. (Cullen’s one of them, if you can believe that. Then again, you probably can.) Somehow, we have to find a way to close the hole in the sky – the Breach, they call it – and I’m just hoping that as soon as we do that, we can come home. But I promised her and I’ll promise you too, I’m not going anywhere as long as she’s here. I’ll look after her as best I can._
> 
> _You should be able to send letters to us here; just address them to Haven Village or the Inquisition, or maybe both is better. I’ll send news as often as there is any. Give my regards to Rivaini._
> 
> _Varric_

With a sigh, he folded up the parchment and used a nearby candle to seal it, then went to find someone who could start it on its journey. He just hoped Hawke would be stopping to get his mail sometime soon.


	3. You Read My Book?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go to Val Royeaux and meet with the Revered Mothers, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for all the good feedback! It's hard for me to fight my natural impatience and not post everything I've written right away, but I'm doing my best.
> 
> You might have noticed, you might not, but all of the chapter titles are taken from Varric's actual dialogue during Inquisition. I like titling themes. :D His dialogue throughout this story is a mix of canon party banter and original content, and it delights me to no end when people can't tell which is which.

Things, Varric concluded, could be worse.

It had been nearly a month since the Conclave blew, and while they were certainly not having anything approaching a good time, life with the Inquisition was tolerable. He’d stationed himself in a tent maybe fifty feet from the door to Bethany’s little house, next to a fire that he tended to feed at odd moments. For obvious reasons, he couldn’t stay with her _all_ the time, but she always knew where to find him.

As far as he could tell, she was settling in decently. There was definite tension between herself and Cassandra (fair enough, he could relate); there was also an air of hesitation, for lack of a better way to describe it, between Bethany and Cullen. The former Templar was looking a bit haggard, Varric thought, even more than he had on their journey across the Waking Sea. This was saying something, since Curly didn’t like sea travel any more than Varric himself did – possibly less, in fact. Whatever was causing the haggard appearance didn’t seem to be directly related to his overly formal interactions with Sunshine, but they probably didn’t help matters, either. As for the Seeker, she gave him the distinct impression that she was stuck between feeling guilty over how she’d initially treated Bethany and feeling annoyed that the Herald’s identity meant she wasn’t getting rid of Varric any time soon.

They’d started deliberately adding to their collective. The first task involved traveling into the Hinterlands, a region in Ferelden which Varric hated immediately for its rocky, hilly, outdoorsy nature. They spent a lot of time there, in the vicinity of Redcliffe Village; having procured the help of a Chantry priestess named Mother Giselle, they proceeded to run around the area taking down mages and Templars. Most of the Templars were off who knew where, while the majority of the mages were holed up inside Redcliffe Castle for some reason, but there were some splinter groups that had broken away from both factions and were making life miserable for farmers, refugees, wandering merchants, stray fennecs, and pretty much anyone else who had the misfortune to cross their paths.

Inquisition soldiers were stationed all around the area, and in their explorations the little group helped to establish a few additional campsites where they could hold the fort, so to speak. They put out a number of fires, both literal and figurative, and the place was starting to recover.

“One thing’s for certain,” Varric remarked dryly. “We don’t have much chance to get bored around here.” They were exploring the crumbling shell of a ruined fortress in a region called Calenhad’s Foothold, and laying claim to a bumper crop of elfroot that grew there; Adan never seemed to have enough of the stuff on hand.

“There’s that,” Bethany agreed, stripping yet another plant of its leaves and stuffing them into her belt pouch. The leather was bulging from its contents. “We’ll head down to the crossroads and check in with Corporal Vale, then make our way back to Haven. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want a good night’s sleep before we set out for Val Royeaux tomorrow.”

“Remind me again why we’re going there, Sunshine? The place is full of Orlesians.”

“Cities in Orlais usually are, Varric.” She smiled, however. “Mother Giselle gave us the names of some people in the Chantry who might be willing to lend us their support, or at least not actively oppose us.” With a slight sigh, she added, “There’s to be a gathering of Chantry personnel in the Belle Marche. We’re going to try to sweet-talk them.”

“Oh, and that’s why you need me along. Say no more, I understand.”

“Like Garrett always says – once you let the dwarf start talking, he’s won.”

At the mention of Hawke, Cassandra interrupted them. “Do you know how to contact your brother?”

Varric kept silent, since the question was not directed at him, but waited to see how Bethany would answer. “Garrett? Yes and no,” she replied. “I have a place where I can send messages, but he’s not really there. In simplest terms, he stops in every so often to pick up his mail. Or, more likely, he gets someone else to pick it up for him so he’s not spotted.” She shrugged. “Carver I can reach easily enough under normal circumstances; he’s usually stationed at a Warden outpost near Lydes, and if he’s moved to a different outpost, they forward my letters. But with all the fighting, delivery hasn’t been altogether reliable.”

“I merely wondered,” replied the Seeker, “since Varric swore up and down that he had no idea where the Champion went.”

“Well, that’s true enough. Garrett joined Isabela’s crew – we never know at any given time where they are. It’s as much for our protection as his, you understand.” Bethany gestured between herself and Varric. “My brother wouldn’t want anyone trying to force information out of either of us.”

 _Nice dig, Sunshine,_ Varric thought wryly. Cassandra looked faintly skeptical, but left the matter where it was. He waited until the Seeker was at a distance before speaking to Bethany in low tones. “Is it my imagination,” he asked carefully, “or are you a bit... frosty with Cassandra?”

“I don’t like being unfriendly,” she admitted. “But I also don’t like that she interrogated you and threatened us both.”

“Eh, the Seeker’s not a bad person. She has a rigid view of the world, but she means well when she’s not hitting things or stabbing books.” He frowned slightly. “Holding grudges doesn’t suit you, you know.”

“Garrett says that too.” She sighed. “I wish he were here, Varric. I feel like he’d know what to do.”

“I wish he were here too, Sunshine, but I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far.”

* * *

The trip to Val Royeaux did not go entirely as planned.

Varric had a hunch that they weren’t as inconspicuous as they might have wanted to be. This was mostly suggested by the fact that a lot of people ran screaming when he, Bethany, Cassandra, and Solas started to walk down the Avenue of Her Reflective Thought, a fancy-ass bridge leading into the Belle Marche shopping district. A scout came running up to their group and genuflected to Bethany, which she seemed to find no less unnerving than the first dozen times something like that had happened. She was going to need to get used to people bowing and shit, he knew, but he also knew that she was a modest Sunshine and things like that made her a little uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable, it seemed, was going to be the mood of the day.

Varric honestly wasn’t sure which part was his favorite – the Revered Mother trying to whip up the crowd with a speech about how the Inquisition was a bunch of heretics, or the Lord Seeker showing up and directing one of his Templars to punch said Revered Mother in the head, or the (variously reluctant) Templars following him out of Val Royeaux, apparently never to return. The whole thing quite simply defied description, and Bethany was visibly shaken.

She approached the fallen Revered Mother Hevara and asked her, somewhat warily, whether she needed healing. The woman ignored her. “This victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra,” she said shortly. Varric was at a loss to understand how any of what had happened could be called a _victory_ for anybody, but he let Cassandra trade snipes with the Mother without comment.

Still clutching her side where she had fallen, Mother Hevara finally looked up at Bethany. “Just tell me one thing,” she said shortly. “Do you _truly_ believe you are the Maker’s chosen?”

Sunshine hesitated only for a second, only long enough – he thought – to sense that any kind of denial would be perceived as weakness, both in herself and in the Inquisition. “I do believe it,” she replied. “Do you have a better explanation?”

“Several. But are they the truth? I am left to question all that I have been taught.” The Mother sighed. “I suppose it is out of our hands, now. We shall all see what the Maker intends in the days to come. For you to be true, a great many things must be false – but if you are false, then a great many things have failed. There is chaos ahead, whatever your intentions.” She waved Bethany away, again ignoring her offers of help.

Varric wandered away a few paces while the Herald and the Seeker spoke with a merchant who apparently wanted to volunteer her services for the Inquisition. Solas was diverted by a different merchant stall selling some kind of little sugary cakes, but Varric’s attention had been captured by an arrow sailing down from seemingly nowhere. It had a message attached to it, which always made for the most interesting arrows, and the message was for the Herald of Andraste, which meant it was even more interesting.

“Sunshine, I think you’d better have a look at this,” he said, returning to her side and surrendering the note with a puzzled frown.

* * *

It was, Varric later reflected, simply destined to be a weird day. And as he had repeatedly established, _weird_ never adequately covered anything.

The message arrow had led them on a little chase through the Belle Marche for more clues, which directed them to a location not too far away. While they were clue-hunting, they stumbled across a messenger, who extended a formal invitation for Bethany to attend a salon hosted by Vivienne de Fer, First Enchanter to the Imperial Court. “Oh, Maker. I have nothing to wear to such a thing,” she fretted.

“Two words, Sunshine,” Varric said patiently. The other three looked at him. “Burlap sack.” He winked.

Bethany paused, puzzled, and then suddenly the copper dropped and she laughed, oblivious to the baffled glances exchanged by Solas and Cassandra. “All right, fair enough. Thank you, Varric.”

“No problem. Now, let’s get to this other meeting point and figure out what that’s all about.”

They didn’t get very far before they were accosted by yet another stranger. Well, she was a stranger to Varric, but Cassandra recognized her right enough – Grand Enchanter Fiona, leader of the mage rebellion. Varric had assumed that she had died in the Conclave; of course, he’d also assumed that of Lord Seeker Lucius, and they’d just seen him an hour earlier, so he was learning an important lesson about assuming people were dead when they really weren’t. Being a former Circle mage herself, Bethany was very respectful, not that he really expected any less.

“So, the mages have taken refuge in Redcliffe Village, as we were told,” said Solas, as they resumed their stride.

“We should find out what they have to say. But since we’re in this area, I want to first follow up with the court enchanter, and with... well, whatever _this_ is,” Bethany replied, indicating the message still gripped in one hand.

“I still think it could be a trap.” Cassandra frowned.

“All things considered, Seeker, that’s probably a healthy attitude to have about everything just now,” Varric replied. “But if we want to find out one way or the other, I guess we have to show up.”

The noble estate to which the letter directed them was some little way north of Val Royeaux proper, and it was past nightfall when they entered. They were, of course, immediately attacked, but not by anyone who was any sort of match for their group. “Not the most welcoming of welcome committees,” Varric observed dryly, putting Bianca back into her resting position. “They didn’t look like guards, though. Anyone else get the impression we interrupted some kind of meeting?”

“It did have that sort of atmosphere, now that you mention it,” Solas agreed. “Perhaps the answers we seek lie further in.” He nodded toward a door which appeared to have been left just slightly ajar.

“Everyone stand back,” Bethany advised, moving toward the door and pushing it open carefully. This turned out to be an excellent suggestion; she immediately had to dodge a few fireballs from the hands of a masked mage in the next chamber.

“Herald of Andraste!” he cried, lowering his hands to his hips and sliding his feet into a typical Orlesian fop pose. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably.”

Bethany’s expression was so bewildered, and at the same time so thoroughly unimpressed, that Varric wished he could draw it. “Not really,” she replied, “since I have no idea who you are.”

“You don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”

Varric and Bethany exchanged baffled glances, and he shrugged. Before anyone could respond, however, they were interrupted by a sort of ‘huagh’ noise, and they all turned to see another masked person fall to the ground. He had been cut down with the arrow in the hands of a young elf, an arrow she now aimed at the masked mage. “Just say ‘What’,” she told him.

“What is the –” And he too was suddenly on the floor, the arrow stuck through one of the eye holes of his mask. _So much for that_ , Varric thought.

“Eugh!” The elf made a disgusted face and went to retrieve her arrow. “Squishy one. But you heard me, right? ‘Just say what’? Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. ‘Blah blah blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!’” She was still chuckling as she tucked the bloodied arrow back into her quiver.

Bethany glanced at Varric again, and he couldn’t help smiling at her incredulous expression. She turned back to the elf, who was addressing her once more. “So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re...” She paused. “You’re kind of plain, really. All that talk and you’re just a person.” Seeing Bethany’s eyebrows lift in puzzlement, she added, “I mean, it’s all good, isn’t it? The important thing is that you glow. You’re the Herald thingy.”

“Er... some people call me the Herald of Andraste, yes.” Bethany tilted her head. “But who are you, and what’s this about?”

“Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get ‘round it.” Seeing Bethany’s still-baffled visage, the elf clarified, “For the reinforcements! Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed.” She giggled. “They’ve got no breeches!”

Sure enough, Varric couldn’t have put the entire thing in one of his books because nobody in their right mind could have invented what happened next. A dozen or so of the masked mage’s close personal friends burst into the scene, all dressed in fancy masks and silk doublets and stark white smallclothes. Once the ground was littered with bodies, Bethany went back to trying to make sense out of their new acquaintance. Sera was not very old; she had great aim, a cackling sort of laugh, and hair the color of daffodils which looked suspiciously like she’d cut it herself with a poorly sharpened knife.

Varric’s ears pricked up a bit when she mentioned being part of the Friends of Red Jenny. He’d heard of them, of course; he and Hawke, and the twins before circumstances had split up the family, had put down a lot of gang activity in Kirkwall over the years, and the Friends of Red Jenny had been ultimately revealed to be the ones giving Hawke rewards for his efforts. It hadn’t occurred to Varric that the collective was as big as Sera made it sound, but then again, the Carta was a pretty sprawling operation, so maybe it wasn’t so farfetched. From the way she described it, they mostly helped the “little people” who worked for overly important knobs like the masked mage, which was how he’d been brought to Sera’s attention. Who he was, and why he was working against the Inquisition, she didn’t know and they probably never would. Sera, meanwhile, wanted to join and lend the network of the Red Jennies to the Inquisition.

“I don’t know if that’s the wisest course of action,” Cassandra observed quietly, with a faintly disapproving slant to her eyebrows.

“Are we really in a position to turn away anyone who wants to help us right now, Seeker?” Varric retorted. “Besides, I don’t think one elf can make things worse.”

Bethany apparently agreed with him, since she told Sera to make her way to Haven and they would meet her there. Sera, for her part, seemed delighted. “This will be grand,” she said.

“Not the word I would have chosen, Buttercup,” he muttered to himself, “but I guess we’ll see.”

* * *

The court enchanter’s soiree was held at the estate of the Duke of Ghislain, which was kind of sort of on their way back to Haven in a very indirect manner. Varric didn’t have any opportunity to reach out to his own contacts about it, but he and Solas and Cassandra were waiting in a public house in the village nearest the estate; a few discreet inquiries with the barkeeper and patrons assured him that Duke Bastien was an intelligent, genteel nobleman, and Madame Vivienne was regarded as a paragon of good manners and proper etiquette. They didn’t sound like much fun, but nobody seemed to have anything negative to say about either of them, which made him feel better about letting Bethany go alone.

They’d had to let her go alone, of course. The invitation had been for the Herald, and only for the Herald, so with visible reluctance she had left them at the pub and gone by herself in a hired wagon. Her entourage, for lack of a better term, seated themselves at a table in one corner and tucked into some bowls of vegetable stew and mugs of overly foamy beer.

“Planning to hold court, Varric?” Cassandra inquired. Her tone wasn’t exactly friendly, but also not hostile.

“Meaning what, Seeker?”

“Going to take over the fireside and regale the room with one of Hawke’s adventures? I was given to understand that’s a hobby of yours.”

“It’s a hobby of mine in _Kirkwall_ ,” he corrected her. “Everybody in Kirkwall knows Hawke, or at least knows of him. My publisher says that my books never sold very well here in Orlais, so I doubt there’d be much of an audience. Now, if you’d like me to regale them of the time I was kidnapped and held prisoner in exchange for information...”

“Never mind.” She scowled.

“Actually, Varric, as we’re on the subject of your stories, I did want to ask about something,” Solas remarked. “By the end of _Hard in Hightown_ , almost every character is revealed as a spy or a traitor.”

“Wait.” Varric blinked. “ _You_ read my book?

“It was in the Inquisition library.”

“We have a library?”

“Have you never been in Josephine’s office? She has shelves filled with books. They are, she tells me, for everyone’s benefit.”

“Huh. Yeah, I’ve been in there, but I guess I didn’t think about it too much,” Varric admitted. “Didn’t even realize she had a copy of my book. So, what’s your question?”

“Everyone but Donnen turned out to be in disguise. Is that common?” Solas took another bite of his stew, and Cassandra looked as though she were interested in the answer as well.

“Are we still talking about books, or are you asking if everyone I know is a secret agent?” He’d met a _few_ secret agent types in his time, but not many.

“Are there many tricksters in dwarven literature?”

“A handful, but they're the exception. Mostly they're just honoring the ancestors. It's very dull stuff. Human literature? Now there's where you'll find the tricky, clever, really deceitful types.”

Solas frowned just slightly. “Curious.”

“Not really.” Varric shrugged. “Dwarves write how they want things to be. Humans write to figure out how things are.”

“Do we?” Cassandra paused. “Perhaps we do. You may be right.”

“I’m always right,” he assured her. “And when I’m not, I lie about it.”


	4. I Make Up For It Elsewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric meets "Tiny" and hears from Hawke. Bethany vents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduces "Horizon," an Inquisition runner who appears a few times throughout the story. She's the creation of SavvyLittleMinx, who won a giveaway I did on my Tumblr blog - her prize was a cameo in this fic, and this was the character she wanted to be.
> 
> Really continuing to be tickled by the response to this story! Thank you all! Be sure to check out the art piece at the end of the chapter, which I commissioned months ago.

It would be a little while longer before they actually made it into Redcliffe Village proper. The Hinterlands required a _lot_ of cleanup, even more than the Inquisition had already accomplished. The rampant banditry, the demon-spawning holes in the air, and nature’s very own assorted roadblocks all conspired to keep them out of the village for what felt like an interminably long time. Bethany seemed reasonably sanguine, on the whole, but that was Sunshine in a nutshell.

The new recruits were helpful, at least. Varric observed that the majority of those who showed up to join the Inquisition were put into the usual rank-and-file in one way or another, but those who were personally welcomed by the Herald herself were considered to be part of a more exclusive group, like Cassandra and Solas and the advisors. (He was part of that group too, of course, but as Bethany herself would probably admit even faster than he would, he was also something else entirely.) Varric found Sera rather amusing, and he more or less respected Vivienne even if he wasn’t sure whether he liked her yet. The important thing was that they were there to help, and as he’d told Cassandra, the Inquisition wasn’t exactly in a position where they could turn away any genuine offers of help.

The next volunteer, however, was something neither he nor Bethany could possibly have expected.

Varric was waiting for her outside the Chantry, while she had another of the seemingly endless debriefings or meetings or whatever they were with Cassandra and the advisors. She’d gone with Solas, Sera, and Cassandra to examine some elven ruin in the Hinterlands, and had more or less harangued him into staying behind because she heard him complaining of a headache. He was equal parts amused and annoyed by the matter, not least since Adan’s elfroot potion cleared up the problem in less than a quarter of an hour; now, he reasoned, she was back and it was his turn to do the nagging. He very much doubted she’d eaten. While he waited, a young soldier with reddish brown hair came and stood patiently near him, evidently also waiting for someone, and it was the shield he carried which caught Varric’s attention.

“Your shield is from Kirkwall, but unless I’m wildly mistaken, you’re not,” he said by way of a greeting. The red knotwork emblem of his city was prominent on the square-ish shield; seeing it increased the perpetual gnawing sensation of homesickness in his belly.

“Good eye,” complimented the young human. “The shield is... secondhand, you might say.”

“That accent’s definitely not Marcher. I’d almost say Tevinter, if I had to guess, although it’s been a while since I heard one of those.”

“A good ear to go with the good eye. You’re right.” The young man paused, then offered a hand to shake. “Cremisius Aclassi, of the Bull’s Chargers.”

“Varric Tethras, rogue storyteller. You look like you’re on official business, if I may say so.”

“Yes, I have a message for the Herald,” he explained, “but I haven’t really been able to get anyone to talk to me.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I’ve got something of a direct line to the Herald,” said Varric, amused. He turned toward the Chantry door as it opened. “Ah. Were your ears ringing, Sunshine? We were just talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” she replied, moving to join him.

“As if I ever say anything about _you_ that isn’t good.”

“Well, you have me there.” She smiled.

Varric glanced at the newcomer, preparing to introduce him, and stifled a chuckle at the young man’s widened eyes. “Lady Herald Bethany Hawke, this is Cremisius Aclassi, who comes bearing some sort of important message for you.”

With only minimal stumbling, the messenger explained his presence. He was, as he’d told Varric, with the Bull’s Chargers – a mercenary company. Unusually, his boss had decided to seek out the Inquisition and offer the group’s services for the cause. Bethany was interested, although her expression shifted dramatically when Cremisius explained that the “Iron Bull” was a Qunari.

 _Shit. Sunshine doesn’t like Qunari_.

She held her tongue, however, and managed a smile. The messenger concluded with an invitation for Her Worship to journey to the Storm Coast – about two days’ ride from Haven – and see the group in action before she made any firm decisions, and she agreed. Once he was gone, she looked at Varric. “Well... I’m sure there’s no way this could go wrong.”

“You all right, Sunshine?”

“Do I have a choice?” Seeing the look on his face (whatever it was), she relented somewhat. “You know what I mean. Like you say, we’re not in a position to turn away offers of help.”

“I know, but just because it’s the right thing doesn’t make it the easy thing. I’ll go with you to this meeting on the Storm Coast,” he added, and her expression cleared somewhat.

“I wasn’t going to ask it of you – I know you don’t care much for the damp – but it will make me feel better,” she admitted. “Thanks, Varric.”

“No problem. Before you do anything else, though, let’s get some food in you. Come on, Flissa’s been making something that smells suspiciously like chocolate and I want to get some before it’s all gone.”

“You can’t be serious. This I have to see.”

* * *

A few days later, Varric was desperately trying to remember what in the world had possessed him to _volunteer_ for a trip to the Storm Coast.

They’d barely been at the camp for an hour, and he was already soaked to the bone. The camp was on a cliff overlooking the shoreline; the Inquisition soldiers who staffed the setup were making a heroic attempt to keep a fire going despite the constant rainfall, but the conditions were more than slightly against them. In desperation, they had pulled apart one of their tents and rearranged the fabric to create a sort of awning above the fire; it didn’t help with the wind making the rain blow sideways, but it was better than nothing, and he had to give them points for creativity and effort. The Storm Coast was well named, that was for sure.

His reason for volunteering to be there was standing entirely too close to the edge of the cliff, peering down at the beach. “I think that’s the Iron Bull and his men,” Bethany remarked, one hand lightly clutching the trunk of a sapling growing out of the hillside. “I can see his horns.”

“Maker, I’ve never seen anything like him,” Cassandra commented, moving to stand nearby (and, Varric noted approvingly, positioning herself so that she could at least try to grab the Herald if she lost her footing). “Who are they fighting?”

“Servants of the Elder One, I’m presuming,” she replied. “They look like mages, if all the fireballs are any indication. Let’s get down there, they might need a hand – or at least some healing.”

By the time they made their way down the rocky slope, however, the Chargers and their leader were wrapping up the fight. The Iron Bull was at least two Varrics high, probably closer to three, and had wide pointed horns almost like that lost druffalo they’d had to herd out of a narrow valley in the Hinterlands. He was shirtless, which made it easy to see that he bore the scars of many past battles, and a patch concealed the place where he had almost certainly lost an eye. Despite all of this, however, and ignoring the massive war axe he carried, there was something inherently friendly and likable in his somewhat battered face.

_I’m going to call him Tiny._

“Chargers, stand down!” bellowed the giant. He brushed some dirt from his striped trousers with a hand that was missing parts of a few fingers. “Krem! How’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead,” reported the young man they’d met a few days earlier.

“That’s what I like to hear. Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.” With that, the Iron Bull turned his attention to Bethany. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Have a seat, drinks are coming.” He gestured for her to accompany him to where they could make themselves more or less comfortable on some large rocks; the rocks were wet, of course, but so was everything. Varric elected to stand, positioning himself just behind Sunshine like some kind of bodyguard.

“You must be the Iron Bull,” said Bethany, her tone forcibly pleasant.

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away.” He nodded at the young man who approached. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.”

“Good to see you again,” the lieutenant said, almost shyly. In a more normal tone, he added, “Throat cutters are finished, Chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again,” Bull advised. He and his Tevinter lieutenant bantered back and forth for a moment, and then the young man left them again. “So. Krem tells me you’re the one they call the Herald of Andraste.”

“The Maker has a strange sense of humor,” she replied. “Yes, I’m Bethany Hawke. This is Varric Tethras,” she added, gesturing to the dwarf.

“Yeah, he mentioned you too.” Bull nodded. “If you don’t mind my saying so, neither of you seems particularly at ease just now.” He paused. “It’s obviously not the fighting. Is it the horns?”

Varric glanced at Bethany, whose lips twisted briefly in a sort of curlicue of thought. “We’re from Kirkwall,” she said after a moment.

“Oh.” Their new acquaintance paused. “Oh! Oh, well, that would explain it. Anybody who saw what the old Arishok did probably _would_ hesitate before taking on somebody like me.”

“To be fair, I’m a little surprised _you_ would want to work with _me_ ,” she replied, with a wry smile. “My brother is the one who killed your Arishok.”

“I thought the name sounded familiar. Don’t worry, I’m not taking that personally,” he quipped. “From what I know of the old Arishok, he wouldn’t have given your brother much choice in the matter.”

“I’ve met your new Arishok too,” Varric commented. “First time I ever saw a Qunari without horns.”

“Usually means they’re destined for something special,” Bull explained.

“The only thing they seem to have in common is a tendency to burn things.”

“That pretty much sums up the _antaam_.” Bull squinted at Varric. “Hey, don’t most dwarves have beards? Or at least mustaches or something?”

“I make up for it elsewhere.” Varric let his features relax into a smirk when he heard Bethany giggle.

“All right, Varric, let’s try to stay professional,” she said. Her tone was much more like its usual self. “As you were saying, Iron Bull?”

“Right.” The Iron Bull explained a little about how the Chargers operated, how they were expensive but worth it. Varric pulled off his leather duster and held it over his head, trying to position it at an angle where it would also shield Bethany from the worst of the downpour. He honestly couldn’t tell whether it was raining or if it was just sea spray or some kind of delightful combination that was probably going to give at least one of them pneumonia.

“There’s one other thing,” Bull added, squinting at them again. “Might be useful; might piss you off. You two are from Kirkwall, so did you ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Spies,” said Varric. “We were on a caper with one some years back, an elf named Tallis. Dragged her brother into all sorts of trouble while we just tried to find them.” He paused. “You don’t know her, do you?”

Bull rolled his eye. “Hey, one time I ran across this dwarf on the road. Short, grouchy. You think you may know him?”

“I’m in the Merchants’ Guild. Ten royals says that not only do I know him, he owes me money.”

“Oh. Well, no, I don’t know Tallis. Anyway, yeah, they’re the spies of the Qunari. Or I should say, _we’re_ the spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere.”

“No argument here,” said Bethany mildly.

“I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what's happening. But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people.”

“Well, you’re much more forthcoming than Tallis was,” she remarked. “You’re a Qunari spy, and you just... told us.”

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it's bad,” he replied. “Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I'm on your side.”

“You still could have kept it to yourself that you’re Ben-Hassrath.”

“From an outfit called the _Inquisition_?” He laughed. “I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it up front from me. Meanwhile, I’ll only send enough intel home to keep my superiors happy. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the world from falling apart – you let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

Bethany nodded, and glanced at Varric. “Was there anything you wanted to add?”

“How about you give the man an answer so we can go someplace dry before we all catch our deaths?” he suggested.

“You always were the practical one.” She chuckled. “Very well, Iron Bull, welcome to the Inquisition. Gather your men and we’ll meet you back in Haven.” Standing, she added, “Meanwhile, I’ll get my waterlogged dwarf out of the weather so he stops complaining for a little while.”

“You’re all heart, Sunshine.”

* * *

He was proud of her, however; in spite of everything, she’d handled herself very well. Varric knew that Bethany had better reasons than most for having a poor opinion of Qunari. Even setting aside the Arishok’s rampage through Kirkwall, one of her closest friends back in Lothering had been murdered by a Qunari. He’d never quite gotten all the details of that story, and he suspected that neither had she, but he knew that a Qunari had fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden when the Fifth Blight was brought to its abrupt end. He also knew that the current Arishok had instantly recognized King Alistair, when they’d chanced to meet him, and had greeted him as a friend. Varric had never said as much to Bethany, but he was almost positive that the same guy who had killed her friend was now the head of the Qunari military.

(He’d actually never told her very much at all about that particular adventure. There were parts of it that didn’t make sense even to him, and he wasn’t comfortable trying to explain them to his best friend’s baby sister. Maybe someday it would come up, but for now, all she knew – or needed to know – was that he and Isabela had helped the King of Ferelden with a personal matter.)

The party managed to return to Haven without having actually gotten sick from all the damp air on the Storm Coast. Bethany, to his amusement, promptly turned the tables on him, badgering him to put on dry clothes almost the instant they dismounted their horses. “It’s your own fault if you get sick, you know,” she chided him fondly. “Wearing silk shirts in places like the ones we visit? What are you thinking?”

“We can’t all make burlap sacks look good, Sunshine.” He allowed himself to be shooed to where he could put on warm garments while she went to make her report to the council. Bull and his men were perhaps a half day’s march behind them. Haven didn’t have a lot going for it, in Varric’s opinion, but at least it was dry, and he was soon ensconced by the tavern fireplace with a drink and some bread smeared with butter and drizzled with honey. It would have to suffice until dinner.

“Lord Varric?” asked a voice.

He stifled a sigh. _Why_ Josephine insisted on the assorted runners addressing him this way, he didn’t know. Once upon a Kirkwall time, he’d remarked to Bethany that “It’s sunnier here, and nobody calls me ‘my lord’” as his reason for liking the surface; but while he still had the sunshine (and Sunshine), the second half of the statement had been taken from him.

Swallowing his irritation, he looked up at the young woman. He’d seen her a fair few times, and unless he was wildly mistaken, she was one of Leliana’s scouts posing as a runner for Josephine. What purpose that served, he wasn’t sure. “Horizon, right? What can I do for you?”

“Sorry to interrupt, ser, but you’ve just gotten a letter.”

“If it’s from the Merchants’ Guild, you can give it to Flissa for her kindling box.”

“Er... no, ser.” She seemed amused by the notion. “It’s got a little drawing of a ship for a return address. Lady Montilyet said that would mean something to you.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll read that, thanks.” He accepted the envelope and, once Horizon had left him in peace, broke the seal to find Hawke’s answer to his letter.

 

 

> _Dear Varric,_
> 
> _Isabela says I actually turned green while reading your letter. I wouldn’t be surprised. Word is reaching everywhere about this Breach, of course, and about the Herald of Andraste. But until I got your letter, I didn’t realize that it was Bethany – since you wrote, I’ve heard the name “Lady Hawke” more than once in reference to the position, but at the time, it was a shock. I’m glad I got it from you first, or I might not have believed it._
> 
> _Thank the Maker you’re there. I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere else just now, but I’m a lot less frantic than I would be if you weren’t with Bethany. I’m sure your presence is a great comfort to her. My sister is an exceptional mage (not that I need to tell you that), but this would be enough to rattle anybody. No surprise that you promised to look after your “Sunshine,” of course; it’s very reassuring._
> 
> _I’ll send Bethany a separate letter with this one. Keep sending me letters when you can – I’m sure you two have a lot of work ahead of you, but when you have the time to keep me informed, please do. If I hear anything I think might help the Inquisition, I’ll report it to you as soon as possible. We’re keeping out to sea more often than not, since for all I know the Chantry is still trying to chase me down, but we’ll check the drop point as frequently as we can. Isabela sends her love to you both._
> 
> _Hawke_

* * *

“You got one too, huh?”

Varric looked up to find Bethany standing at his elbow, and wondered how she’d gotten the drop on him so thoroughly. After reading Hawke’s letter three times, he’d slipped into what old-time writers used to call a ‘brown study,’ staring into the fire without really seeing it. How long he’d been in that state, he wasn’t sure. “Got one?” he repeated vaguely.

“A letter from Garrett.” She sat down opposite him. “I came to tell you that he wrote to me, but I can see by the handwriting that he wrote to you too. Not that I’m surprised. He probably said the same things to both of us.”

“Oh, the usual, you know. ‘Look after Bethany, try not to die, Isabela sends her love.’ Covering the basics.”

“Yes, that’s more or less how my letter runs too.” She sighed. “That’s one brother, at least. I wish I’d hear from Carver; the longer he goes without writing, the more I worry. Leliana thinks there’s something strange going on with the Wardens, since King Alistair seems to be the only one on this side of the Waking Sea who hasn’t gone missing.”

“I’m sure Junior’s all right,” he assured her. “If something was wrong, he’d find a way to let Hawke know, and Hawke would have told us. Probably he’s just off doing Warden-y things.”

“Warden-y things are frequently dangerous,” she reminded him, frowning. Varric realized with a start that she was genuinely worried. It was something of a failing of his, and he wasn’t even sure why it was the case, but he occasionally forgot that Bethany and Carver were twins. It must be hard on them, he thought, especially for the more sensitive sister, to constantly be separated from the mirrors of their souls.

“Yeah, they are,” he agreed gently. “But don’t forget, Sunshine – Junior’s a Hawke as much as you are. Hawkes are not easily grounded, no matter what happens. You’ll hear from him any day now. Maybe with all the stupid mage-Templar crap, the runners are having trouble finding safe passage between here and Lydes, or something.”

“You could be right,” Bethany allowed, her expression clearing. “Speaking of which, tomorrow’s our trip into Redcliffe Village to meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona. I don’t think Cullen’s too happy about it. Or with me,” she added.

“Don’t tell me you messed up his hair?”

She giggled. “No.” More seriously, she added, “They were arguing again, the advisors and Cassandra, about whether to approach the mages or the Templars. I’m so sick of the discussion that I could scream, honestly. Well, Cullen suddenly said, ‘I _was_ a Templar, I know what they’re capable of,’ and I... I know I shouldn’t have...” Her eyes had a guilty sheen to them. “I replied, ‘So do I.’ It sort of stopped the whole conversation in its tracks.”

“Ouch.” Varric cringed just slightly.

“Like I said, I know I shouldn’t have said it. I really do want to give him that second chance we discussed. But sometimes... I just...” She briefly clenched her hands into fists and then released them again. “I’m so _angry_ , Varric. All the time, under the surface, I’m _so_ angry!”

“Easy, Sunshine,” he said, somewhat alarmed. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Get it out where it can’t hurt you anymore.”

“They kidnapped me. They wanted to kill me,” she said. Instantly he felt his own mood darken; she was referring to an alliance between mages and Templars which had all been a grand masquerade to try and get revenge on Hawke for a perceived slight. “And you know, I could let that one go. Ser Alrik is harder to forgive. He was the worst of the lot, but there were others who did things that were very nearly as awful... and Cullen wouldn’t listen. ‘Mages are not people,’ he told my brother.” She shook her head. “I could forgive even that. But _Ser Emeric_. Why didn’t they listen to Ser Emeric? Why didn’t they believe him? If they had, Mother – Mother might –” She shook her head, unable to give voice to the words, but Varric understood.

“I know. I know,” he said, reaching over to cover her slim hand with his heavy one. “Hey, look. You’ve got every right to be mad about that. About all of it. Feelings have a funny way of sneaking up on you even years later. You can be mad and sad and everything in between, and that’s okay. Just don’t let it eat you up inside, all right? I worry about you when you do that.”

“I’ll try,” she replied, choked.

“That’s all anyone can ask. Now... we’ve got some time before dinner,” he said, his tone still gentle. “How about I go get us some ink and quills, and we’ll write back to Hawke and let him know that he doesn’t need to storm the village just yet?”

“He _would_ do that, wouldn’t he?” She gave a little warble of laughter, much to Varric’s relief. “All right. I suppose it wouldn’t do to let this place be invaded by pirates.”

“Probably not. But imagine how confused everyone would be if they managed to get the ship this far inland!”

 

* * *

 


	5. Trying to Think of a Single Worse Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany meets Alexius, Fiona, Felix, and Dorian. Time travel ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I imagine "In Hushed Whispers" looks like to the companions who don't get dragged into the future. It was interesting to write, to say the least.

Varric supposed he should have expected things not to go according to plan. Why would they? He honestly couldn’t remember the last time anything _had_ gone according to plan, really.

(Well, there was the surprise birthday party they had thrown for the twins shortly before Bartrand’s expedition; that had turned out quite nicely on the whole. Shit, that seemed so long ago now.)

That they had to seal up a rift before they could even enter Redcliffe Village proper wasn’t such a big deal. It was there and so were they, and it wasn’t an unreasonable thing to ask the only person in all of Thedas who could deal with the mess to, well, deal with the mess. They mopped up the demons and Bethany did her glowy thing and that settled the matter. No, the problem was that as soon as they were within the town gates, one of their scouts came running to inform the Lady Herald that no one was expecting them.

“No one?” she repeated. “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone.” The scout shrugged, baffled. “We’ve arranged the use of the tavern for the negotiations.”

A puffed-up young mage in brown robes pushed his way over to the group then, offering apologies for not greeting them sooner. His words practically dripped with... well, with something. Varric wasn’t sure what. Somebody called Magister Alexius was on his way and he was the one they had to ask about borrowing the mages to seal the Breach. “You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

“ _Former_ Grand Enchanter?” Vivienne murmured. “That’s quite a new development.”

“Is it just me, or is something weird going on here?” asked Varric. He glanced at Bethany, whose expression was calm, but he could see the distinct unease in her brown eyes.

“We should talk to the Grand Enchanter,” said Cassandra.

They started moving through the village, and Bethany’s gaze roved over the flowering hills and sturdy little houses and bustling docks along the silvery lake. “I’ve never actually been to Redcliffe,” she admitted quietly, mostly for Varric’s ears. “It’s bigger than Lothering was, and I always understood it to be wealthier too. Lothering was – well, is again, I suppose – mostly a farming community. Redcliffe is more about trade. I remember wanting to visit when I was a child, but we never had the opportunity.”

“Better late than never, Sunshine.”

The tavern was called the Gull and Lantern, which surprised Varric a little, since all the stories about the Fifth Blight said that it was called the Warden’s Rest or something like that. Maybe it had changed owners in the intervening years. Or – and this seemed equally likely – maybe there was more than one tavern. With as many trading and fishing ships as seemed to be docked on the Redcliffe harbor, not to mention the wagon caravans that were constantly coming and going, it wasn’t out of the question that the town could get enough business to support two taverns, maybe even three.

They decided to explore the village a little bit before making their way to the meeting. There was a dwarven bookseller stationed along the waterfront; the stall’s wares weren’t the most extensive, but Varric appreciated any effort made toward a literate society. They encountered a weapons merchant, an arms merchant, and one of the few remaining Chantry sisters who, in her own words, had refused to let the situation in Redcliffe Castle run her out of town and away from her flock.

“You’re telling me this Magister Alexius kicked out Arl Teagan and took over the castle?” Varric asked, baffled.

“This is getting more disturbing by the minute,” said Cassandra, and he wasn’t inclined to argue.

They took a moment or two to pay their respects at the griffon statue erected in honor of the Hero of Ferelden. Bethany put a gloved hand on one of the creature’s stone talons; she was thinking of Carver, Varric was certain. There’d be no ease for Sunshine’s mind until she heard _something_ about her twin.

“Come on,” she said after a pause. “I want to help the people of Redcliffe. Dealing with the mage situation might be the best way to do it.”

* * *

The Gull and Lantern had the same sort of cabin-like appeal as the rest of the buildings in Redcliffe. It was sturdy, rather impressively clean, and seemed snug and dry; Varric wouldn’t have minded it being a little less tidy, but otherwise it was a satisfactory watering hole. The staff seemed altogether competent, which made him oddly homesick for the Hanged Man and its hopeless Norah.

While Sera, Solas, and the Iron Bull waited outside in the sunlight, Varric accompanied Bethany, Vivienne, and Cassandra into the main room of the tavern. Just as the mage at the village gates had indicated, it had been reserved for the negotiations, and only Grand Enchanter Fiona and a few of her people were in evidence. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she said; her tone was pleasant, but somehow more formal than he remembered from the meeting in Val Royeaux. Bethany gave her a polite nod, which she returned, and then she caught sight of the Iron Lady. “First Enchanter Vivienne,” she said with another nod.

“My dear Fiona, it’s been so long since we last spoke,” Vivienne drawled. “You look dreadful! Are you sleeping well?”

Fiona seemed to elect to ignore the question, for which Varric supposed he couldn’t blame her. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?” she asked instead.

 _Wait, what?_ Varric thought. He glanced at Bethany, who looked as perplexed as he felt.

“We’re... we’re here because you invited us,” she said hesitantly. “In Val Royeaux.”

“You must be mistaken,” replied the Grand Enchanter. “I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

This time Varric exchanged glances with Cassandra, since she’d been there as surely as he himself had been. She shrugged, eyes narrowed; this was agitating the Seeker. He understood the feeling.

“Well, that’s very strange,” said Bethany, “because someone who looked exactly like you spoke to me in Val Royeaux a few days ago.” Her eyebrow was arched, and her tone was dry. Sunny she was, but not stupid, and Varric guessed that her internal bullshit meter was probably jangling as hard as his own.

“Exactly like me?” Fiona repeated. Her face was a bit thin and stretched, he thought, like she hadn’t eaten properly in a few days. Vivienne might have been harsh to say she looked _dreadful_ , but she definitely didn’t look well, and this new development seemed to be making it a little worse. “I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone...” She paused, and shook her head, looking at the floor. “Whoever – or whatever – has brought you here, the situation has changed.” Lifting her chin again, she adopted a sort of resolute tone of voice, more like she was reminding herself of the facts than sharing them with the new arrivals. “The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

“Fiona, dear,” said Vivienne flatly, “your dementia is showing.”

“An alliance with Tevinter?” The Seeker sounded more confused than anything. “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

For his part, Varric was mostly disgusted. “Andraste’s ass... I’m trying to think of a single _worse_ thing you could have done, and I’ve got nothing.”

“As one indentured to a magister,” Fiona continued, somewhat apologetically, “I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

“Very well,” said Bethany, slowly. “Then – who _is_ in charge now?”

With the kind of timing that Varric thought usually only happened in scripted story events, a new figure strode into the room. They all turned to see an older gentleman in a reddish hooded vestment, clearly Tevinter in style, and he gestured somewhat grandly as he spoke. “Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” He was followed by a younger man dressed in yellow, who seemed much less dramatic.

“Agents of the Inquisition,” said Fiona, “allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

He came to a halt in front of Bethany and gave her a nod. “The southern mages are under my command,” he explained. “And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting.” There was something in the man’s face which Varric very much didn’t like. He couldn’t say exactly why, but the way Alexius seemed to study Sunshine wasn’t giving him any friendly sort of feelings.

“Yes, I have that peculiar honor.” She endured the scrutiny calmly, however. “If you would indulge me, messere, I’d like to better understand this alliance between the rebel mages and the Imperium.”

Alexius, with a serenity that almost equaled her own, answered every question she had. Truthfully, Varric found himself sort of tuning him out; he was less interested in what the man had to say than in the way he said it. If Fiona’s words – which were now looking to be somehow completely honest – had set off his bullshit meter, this Alexius fellow was cranking it up to full blast. His answers to Bethany’s questions had all the hallmarks of being incomplete; there was a strong undercurrent of things _not_ being said. Fiona, he noted, looked extremely uncomfortable, especially when Alexius spoke of her mages being ‘productive citizens of the Imperium’ someday.

 _This isn’t what she had in mind_ , Varric thought, watching Bethany and Alexius take seats at a table to begin the negotiations. _Fiona’s a fool, sure. This guy probably sweet-talked her somehow. But she never meant to get the mages into something this dangerous... I guess she was scared._ Inwardly, he snorted. _There’s a gaping green hole in the sky and half of Thedas wants her people dead. Of course she was scared. And he took advantage of that._

“Felix,” said Alexius, addressing himself to the younger man in yellow, “would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners – my son Felix, friends.” Felix turned and bowed to Bethany before moving to fulfill his father’s request, and Varric sidled up to stand behind her chair somewhat. “I’m not surprised you’re here,” Alexius continued. “Containing the Breach is not a feat many would even attempt. There’s no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor... ambitious, indeed.”

Bethany gave him a sweetly impudent smile. “Well, I wouldn’t want anyone to feel left out of the endeavor, you know.” Varric felt his lips curl into a smirk; Sunshine didn’t sass people too often, but it was always a thing of beauty when she did. He couldn’t help being proud.

Alexius started to say something else, but broke off when Felix came stumbling back to the table. He was pale, and looked shaky on his feet, and Bethany got to her feet just in time to catch him as he stumbled. “My lady – I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

“Felix.” Alexius was at his son’s side in a heartbeat. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Father.” His breathing was labored, however, and Alexius clearly wasn’t buying it. With apologies to Bethany for needing to postpone the meeting, the magister called to Fiona for assistance and took Felix back to the castle. He was so absorbed in his son’s apparent illness, he took absolutely no notice of the fact that Bethany was left standing there with a paper in her hands.

“What’ve you got there, Sunshine?” Varric asked, once Alexius and the other had left.

“I’m not sure.” She unfolded the sheet and stared at the words, reading them aloud for the others to hear. “‘Come to the Chantry – you are in danger.’ Well, that’s ominous.”

“Could be a trap.”

“It could,” she agreed. “There’s no telling who or what could be waiting for us in that Chantry. But... I think we need to find out.”

* * *

As it turned out, what was waiting for them in the Chantry was a Fade rift, a handful of demons, and a handsome young man. He looked to be about Bethany’s own age, with a luxuriant mustache and an outfit that seemed to be made from a ridiculous preponderance of belts. “Good, you’re finally here! Now, help me close this, would you?”

He was actually doing a pretty good job on his own, clubbing one of the demons into submission with his mage staff, but of course the rift meant more company. The rift was weird, like the one Bethany had closed outside the village gates; some parts of the room seemed to be moving faster than other parts, which made no sense at all, but Varric was getting used to that. (The things not making sense part, not the inconsistent time part.)

“Fascinating,” said the stranger, once the rift was sealed. “How does that work, exactly?” He studied the hesitation in Bethany’s face, and chuckled warmly. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom – rift closes.”

“Who are you?” she inquired curiously.

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He offered a short bow. “How do you do?”

From his place at her side, Varric could see that Bethany still looked a bit nonplussed, and it was evidently clear to their new acquaintance too. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor,” he explained, “so my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I thought it would be Felix waiting for me,” she admitted.

“I’m sure he’s on his way. Felix was to give you the note, then join us after ditching his father.” Dorian smiled briefly; sadly too, Varric noted. “He’s had some lingering illness for months. Felix is an only child, and Alexius is being a mother hen, most likely.”

Dorian also explained that yes, he was a mage from Tevinter but no, he was not a magister; Varric wondered how much of a difference it made. “Look,” he said, “you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the rebel mages out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“That is fascinating – _if_ true,” said Solas, who had declined to wait outside this time, “and almost certainly dangerous.”

“The rift you closed here – you saw how it twisted time around itself, how it sped some things up and slowed others down,” said Dorian. “Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear farther and farther away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“Because we don’t have enough problems,” Varric muttered.

Bethany thought a little. “So, he... he manipulated time in order to get to the Grand Enchanter before I did?” she asked. “That’s why I can remember meeting her in Val Royeaux, but she can’t remember meeting me?”

“You catch on quick.” Dorian nodded approvingly. “I helped develop this magic – when I was his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. But what I don’t understand is _why_ he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them.” Felix put in his appearance then, nodding to them all and expressing regret that he “played the illness card” to divert his father’s attention. “My father has joined a cult,” he said. “Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves Venatori. And I can tell you this much, my lady – whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“To me?” Bethany looked genuinely shocked, but it melted into a wry smile. “Well, the Maker has a sense of humor. Should I feel flattered? Perhaps send a thank-you note for the compliment?”

“Send him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those.” Dorian’s twinkling eyes mirrored Varric’s own amusement.

They discussed the matter at length for several moments – why the Venatori might be obsessed with Sunshine, how Felix desperately wanted her to stop Alexius for his own good, how knowing the trap was there was the first step toward not getting caught in it. Dorian had to leave Redcliffe before Alexius caught wind of his presence, so they confirmed that he would join the party in Haven at the first opportunity. Felix, meanwhile, had to return to his father before anyone noticed he was gone.

Varric held his tongue until he could follow Bethany back out into the fresh air, where the rest of their companions had already retreated. “Well, Sunshine, what have we gotten ourselves into this time?”

“Maker’s breath, Varric, I don’t know. What a mess.” She sighed. “Grand Enchanter Fiona actually indentured the rebel mages to Tevinter. That’s a sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth.”

“She must have been desperate. Only thing I can figure that makes any kind of sense. So, what do we do now? Go back to Haven and talk to your bosses?”

“Only thing we can do, I think. Well, first we can go see about that healer Corporal Vale requested for the crossroads – _then_ we’ll go back to Haven.”

* * *

 

 

> _Dear Hawke,_ Varric wrote, when the opportunity finally arose.
> 
> _Things just keep getting weirder and weirder. I know you’re probably someplace where you can’t answer this anytime soon, but I wanted to keep you informed._
> 
> _Redcliffe’s been taken over by a magister from Tevinter. Figure that one out. This Alexius somehow persuaded Grand Enchanter Fiona to more or less give him all the rebel mages, and he’s dangling them over Sunshine’s head. We need the mages to help us seal the Breach, but first he wants a little meeting with her. With just her. You can imagine how well that went over with me when I found out._
> 
> _We’ve got some help, at least. There’s another Tevinter here, and he seems to be on our side. He’s sneaking into that meeting, and the Seeker and I are going with Bethany whether Alexius likes it or not. I can’t give more particulars, of course, in case somebody unfriendly picks this up before it gets into your hands, but long story short we have a plan._
> 
> _I’m looking after her as best I can, I swear it. If this all works out, we’ll get the Breach sealed within a week or so, and maybe then we can go back to Kirkwall. I really, really want to go back to Kirkwall._
> 
> _More news when I can send it. Stay safe out there._
> 
> _Varric_

 

They had barely been back in Haven for a full day when the message came from Alexius, requesting – as Varric explained to Hawke – a private meeting with Bethany, and only Bethany. There was, from what Sunshine told him, a lot of dissension between the three advisors and Cassandra concerning how to deal with it; it hadn’t quite escalated to shouting, but it came closer than usual. While he could understand why they couldn’t just leave the village in the hands of an obviously evil magister, Varric also appreciated the fact that Cullen, at least, was very reluctant to use Bethany as live bait.

The plan was, as plans went, relatively simple and straightforward. Varric and Cassandra would go to Redcliffe Castle with Bethany for the meeting Alexius requested. She would simply refuse to meet with him unless they were allowed to be there as well. She would discuss his allowing the use of the rebel mages for the sealing of the Breach, although Varric suspected that Alexius had no interest in allowing the thing to be sealed at all. While she kept him distracted and focused on her, however, Leliana’s operatives would sneak into the castle through some kind of secret passage and kill as many of Alexius’s helpers as they could before he figured out what was really happening.

Redcliffe Castle was an impressive structure, freshly rebuilt following the Fifth Blight, and Varric looked up at it as they approached. He liked castles well enough – they represented being indoors, and he always approved of being indoors if he had the option – but knowing what was to come gave it a sort of foreboding feeling, like something out of one of his books. “Are you ready for this, Sunshine?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Bethany replied with a sigh. “You?”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be right behind you.” He wanted to suggest that she let him be the one to do the talking; Hawke had often employed him in that capacity on their various misadventures. It was partly because Varric was good at talking his way out of anything, but mostly it was because Hawke so enjoyed witnessing whatever would come out of the dwarf’s mouth. He refrained from actually making the offer, though. Like it or not, Bethany was the Herald of Andraste and she had to speak on her own behalf. The most Varric could do was stand ready to put a crossbow bolt between Alexius’s eyes if he so much as looked at her the wrong way.

He and Cassandra walked, side by side, in what might have looked like a formal march in Bethany’s shadow as she asked somebody in a hood to announce their arrival. Before there was a response, however, some mealy-mouthed kid who kind of looked like he could be Curly’s little brother approached them. “The magister’s invitation was for Mistress Hawke alone,” he said, his tone so smug that Varric had an overwhelming desire to punch him in the nose. “The rest will wait here.”

He expected Bethany to refuse, as planned. Instead, she all but withered the kid with a look; he gulped and nodded, moving aside, leaving Varric to wonder just where she’d learned _that_ useful trick. They followed her up a small flight of stone steps, and it didn’t escape Varric’s notice, nor Cassandra’s most likely, that the hooded figures seemed to close ranks and follow them up to the dais as well. Were these the Venatori? “My lord magister,” said the wimpy kid, “the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

Alexius was seated on the arl’s throne before a massive roaring fire. Felix stood to his immediate right; Fiona was a few steps down, on the opposite side. As Bethany reached the edge of the carpet on the dais, Alexius uncrossed his leg and stood, extending his arms in a welcoming gesture. “My friend, it’s so good to see you again. And your... associates, of course,” he added. Varric was pretty certain he was not best pleased that Bethany had ignored the request to come alone. “I’m sure,” he continued, “that we can work out an arrangement which is equitable to all parties.”

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Fiona interrupted. It was clear that she was unaware of the steps that had to be performed in this dance Alexius had arranged, Varric thought. The magister and the Herald needed to circle each other carefully until one side or the other was ready to make their move. He himself wasn’t fooled, and he knew Bethany too well to think that she was either, but the Grand Enchanter didn’t seem to get it.

“Fiona,” Alexius protested blandly, “you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.”

“I for one don’t mind,” said Bethany. “All three of us are mages, after all. If the Grand Enchanter would like to be part of these talks, I’m sure her input would be valuable.”

“Thank you.” Fiona sounded... hm. Not suspicious, Varric decided; more like mystified. She was still trying to figure out the game being played. But at least now she seemed to recognize that there _was_ a game; it was a start.

* * *

The negotiations began, though slowly. Alexius returned to his seat and dropped any pretense at enthusiasm; his words were heavy, almost metered, as though he were reciting from some ancient script in his mind. He wanted to know, maybe not unreasonably, what the Inquisition could possibly offer him in exchange for the mages; political influence and connection, it seemed, were of no interest to him, and the way things were at the moment, there weren’t too many other bargaining chips on the Inquisition’s table.

While Bethany appeared to be gathering her thoughts, however, Felix sighed. Maybe the charade was too much for him, what with the lingering illness Dorian had mentioned. “She knows everything, Father.”

“Felix, what have you done?”

“Your son is worried about you, Alexius. He wants you to do what’s right,” Bethany said in her gentle way.

“So speaks the thief,” Alexius snapped. “Do you think you can turn my son against me?” He started blathering about her stolen mark and how she didn’t understand it and how dare she think she was in control, and it all sounded to Varric like a lot of – well, as Dorian himself put it, clichéd villainy. Speaking of whom, their new friend suddenly emerged from the shadows, his expression disgusted, further distracting Alexius.

The plan seemed to be going according to Nightingale’s directives, Varric thought, glancing back at the bodies littering the castle hall. One of the Venatori made a distinct _hurk_ sound as an Inquisition soldier felled him, even as the oblivious magister called for the Venatori to help him destroy the Herald. “It seems that your men are dead, Alexius,” said Bethany, her voice much colder than he’d ever heard it.

He frowned at that. Sunshine, speaking so cavalierly of death... it felt wrong. Sure, it was probably just to intimidate their adversary into giving up and all that, but it _felt wrong_. Worse, it didn’t seem to be working; Alexius wasn’t cowed, he was angry. Between Felix’s revelation, and Dorian’s appearance, and everything – he just looked pissed. He held up some kind of amulet, like a very large metal sugar cube on a chain, and it started to do some glowy stuff. Varric shielded his eyes from the glare as Dorian knocked the amulet aside with his staff.

Everything seemed to go all funny for a moment, like the foundations of the very world were doing a random musical number. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped, and Bethany was giving Alexius an amused, triumphant, and altogether exhausted smile. Her garments were no longer clean, but spattered with various muck, almost as though she’d been in several battles while he was blinking.

“Well, that was interesting,” she remarked sweetly. “Are we done here, my lord magister?”

Alexius dropped to his knees with a groan, and a sigh. “You’ve won,” he said. He glanced at his son, his expression turning sorrowful. “Felix...”

As the Inquisition soldiers came to take Alexius into custody, Felix hunkered down beside him. “It’s going to be all right, Father.”

“You’ll die,” Alexius said plaintively.

“Everyone dies,” Felix replied. “But I’ll die knowing that you loved me. That’s something not everyone gets.”

Alexius was taken away, and Varric wasn’t too sure where Felix went; his departure was just a little overshadowed by the sudden arrival of King Alistair, who was none too happy about what Grand Enchanter Fiona had done. Fiona had an odd expression on her face, almost vaguely heartbroken, but Varric was at a loss to interpret its meaning. It didn’t seem to be a great time to say ‘hey, Kingy, how’ve you been since that time we wandered around in the Fade together,’ so instead the dwarf hung back and watched Bethany offer an alliance to the mages in order to get them out of Ferelden fast enough for His Majesty’s tastes.

 _Curly won’t like that_ , he thought. Cassandra didn’t like it much either, judging by the expression on her face, but she was smart enough not to contradict the Herald of Andraste out loud. Speaking of whom... with all the hard bits finished, Bethany looked ready to drop. “Sunshine,” said Varric gently, moving to her side, “you look like you need a nap. Come on, let’s get you over to the Gull and Lantern – you can sleep a bit while the rest of us have a drink.” He took her hand and drew her arm across his shoulders in order to support her; if she needed it, he was prepared to carry her.

“I really want to argue with you, Varric, and I just don’t have the strength,” she noted lightly. She studied him closely, as though making sure he was really there, and he noted with a start that her eyes were bloodshot. “Maker’s breath, you have no idea how glad I am to see you,” she added, squeezing his shoulder briefly.

“People usually are glad to see me,” he reminded her. “I’m sort of used to it. But it’s you, so that makes it nicer to hear. Now, let’s go get you settled.”

* * *

 Maybe an hour later, Cassandra had gone to send a message back to Haven informing the council of what had transpired. Bethany was sprawled across a bed in the room where Dorian had been staying in the village inn, with Inquisition soldiers standing guard on either side of the door. Dorian joined Varric in the taproom, and together they claimed a quiet corner for themselves and looked into the dregs of some Fereldan beer.

“So... can I ask what happened?” Varric asked. “Short version, I mean, I’m sure you’ll have to help her give a detailed account to the bosses back in Haven.”

“Short version, then. To put it as simply as possible, Alexius tried to remove us – well, remove Bethany – from the time stream,” said Dorian. “Make it so that she never existed at all, and thus could have never interfered with this Elder One’s plans. Instead, he knocked us forward in time approximately one year. But it seems that one year was long enough for the Elder One’s forces to conquer the whole of southern Thedas.”

“Andraste’s ass.”

“Indeed. He’d raised an army of demons and engineered the assassination of the Empress of Orlais, both of which seem to have been key elements of his success. It also helped that most of the Inquisition had been utterly obliterated. Only you, Cassandra, and Leliana remained as prisoners within the castle. We liberated the three of you, and you helped us defeat Alexius.” Dorian paused to take a drink, shuddering as he swallowed. “How do you southerners abide this wretched swill?”

“I’m told you develop a taste for it. I’m not a fan, myself.”

“That’s a relief, I do hate to criticize a man’s palate so early in our acquaintance.” Dorian took a deep breath and, apparently summoning his courage, drained the tankard. “She’s very fond of you, you know,” he added.

“Who? Sunshine?” Varric raised an eyebrow.

“Bethany was terribly worried about you. ‘You’re very attached to the dwarf, aren’t you?’ I asked. ‘I’ve known him for many years,’ she replied. ‘He’s my brother’s best friend, and right now he’s pretty much all I have.’ When we found you, you were – for lack of a better word – infected with the red lyrium. You wouldn’t let her touch you, you were afraid of possibly causing her to suffer the same fate. She was terribly close to weeping.”

“Yeah, that’s Sunshine all right. I call her that for a reason, you understand.” Varric’s voice was a little warmer than he intended.

“It does seem rather apt, from what I can tell in our recent acquaintance. Well, the five of us managed to steal the key fragments we needed to get into Alexius’s throne room, but by the time we got there, it was a bit too late. The Elder One was already on his way, and we had only just dealt with Alexius himself when his master arrived. You three volunteered to hold off his forces as long as possible so that I could use the amulet to bring Bethany and myself back to where we left you in the here and now. Speaking of Bethany nearly crying,” Dorian continued, his tone gentler, “she almost collapsed near the end of the adventure. The doors opened and one of those horrid demons that look like walking trees threw your body into the room. It was one of the last things she saw before we returned – the _very_ last thing was your spymaster being killed. To put it bluntly, my friend, the dear lady has had a remarkably difficult day.”

Varric shook his head. “Understatement of the year,” he said with a sigh. “Well, for whatever you did that got her through all of that and back here, you’ve got my gratitude. It’s mostly worth its weight in bar tabs, but if you find you need a bigger favor than that at any point, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“My pleasure. She’s a lovely girl.”

“No argument here.”


	6. Saved All We Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing that big hole in the sky has, of course, some unpleasant consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I'm getting to this story is so enthusiastic, it's really hard for me to be patient about posting! Thank you for that!

Dorian accompanied them back to Haven and hovered in the vicinity while Bethany made her formal report to the advisors. As Varric had expected, they – or at least Curly, the other two were less forthcoming – weren’t overly thrilled with the mages being treated as allies rather than prisoners or whatever. He’d adjust, but it might take a little time. Dorian, meanwhile, decided he was going to stick around for a while and see if he could help, a fact which clearly delighted Sunshine.

They couldn’t go to seal the Breach until a sufficient quantity of lyrium was brought to Haven for the mages, however; so while they waited for that to happen, they continued doing their thing. Bethany decided to head back down to the Hinterlands with Bull, Sera, and Solas, to check in with Corporal Vale and some of the other people in the same neighborhood whom they’d helped. Leliana also had them investigating the report of a Grey Warden in the vicinity, which he suspected Bethany was eager to do in hopes of hearing of Carver. There was also the matter of the horsemaster; they’d made contact, and the guy was all right, but he wasn’t giving any horses to the Inquisition until they set up some watchtowers to help keep an eye out for things like bandits and wolves. It was a smart idea, horses or no horses, and Bethany wanted to check on their progress.

Varric wasn’t enthused about letting her out of his sight, but he couldn’t smother her continuously, after all. He therefore swallowed his unease, waved at Sunshine and her merry band of misfits as they headed down the mountain path, and then made his way to the tavern. He wanted to send a letter to Merrill, and also one to Aveline, just to make sure his city wasn’t falling down without him. He gave a nod to Flissa, who came and took his request for a mug of ale and a sandwich, and settled down in a chair near the fire to start his task.

Approximately three sentences into the note to Daisy, however, he was interrupted by a shadow falling over his table. Looking up, he found himself face to face with the Seeker. “What did I do now?”

“Burlap sack.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When Bethany went to meet with Madame de Fer for the first time, she was worried that she would look out of place at an Orlesian party,” she clarified. “And you said, ‘burlap sack,’ and she laughed and stopped being troubled about it.”

He thought for a moment. “Yeah, that rings a bell. What about it?”

“You told me about that when you recounted the events at Chateau Haine.” There was something almost...  _excited_ in her sparkling dark eyes. It was vaguely endearing, in a strange sort of way. “You said she was upset that day because she was wearing Circle robes, and you told her not to worry about it since she could make a burlap sack look good.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Varric blinked. “Wait, did you only _just now_ make that connection?!”

“I... I was not thinking about it at the time. But Leliana was at that party too, you know, and we were talking about it this morning. And suddenly I... remembered.”

He chortled. “I’ve heard of delayed reactions, Seeker, but six weeks is a pretty hefty delay.”

Her gaze hardened with irritation. “It was a very sweet thing for you to say. And I do not usually think of you and _sweet_ in the same breath. That is all.”

“For your information, I’m a perfect gentleman,” he retorted. “My heart belongs to Bianca, but it has a soft spot for certain persons.” To that end, he returned to his letter, while Cassandra went – well, somewhere. Maybe to vent her spleen on a training dummy again. 

 

> _Dear Daisy,_
> 
> _Not sure when this will reach you, since the world is still all topsy-turvy, but hopefully it finds you well. The Inquisition has a pretty good shot at fixing Blondie’s mess, I think; we’re trying, anyway, I can promise you that. The rogue mages and Templars in the Hinterlands have been handled, at least, so things are quieter in the Redcliffe area. It’s something. Grand Enchanter Fiona and the rebel mages are going to help with sewing up the hole in the sky, so with any luck this will all be over soon._
> 
> _Bethany’s doing her best. I could make a joke about how I’ve finally started to let her go for walks unsupervised, but it’s not as much of a joke as it probably ought to be. What can I say? I’m a worrier. But she’s a Hawke, no question – they’ve all got wills of iron, you know that as well as the rest of us, and she’s handling this whole Herald business about as well as anyone could. She sends her love._
> 
> _I hope the elves are making their way through things decently. We’ve got a fair few working with the Inquisition – mostly mages who came with the Grand Enchanter, but also a few who were just regular people until all this happened._
> 
> _No griffon sightings yet, but you know, things have been so weird in general that nothing would surprise me at this point. If I find any, I’ll try to reserve one of the babies for you. Hopefully he’s extra fluffy and you can name him Feathers._
> 
> _Love, Varric_

 

 

> _Aveline,_
> 
> _It’s hard to tell from this side of the Waking Sea, but I’m going to guess that Kirkwall is still standing. Please make sure it stays that way. Sometimes thinking about coming home is one of the only things that keeps either of us going._
> 
> _Bethany’s all right, or as close to it as anyone in her situation could be. She wasn’t too great at the outset, but ever since she was able to stop the Breach from spreading, that thing on her hand has stopped trying to kill her. She’s a Hawke; I don’t think anything else needs to be said._
> 
> _We’ve had a couple of letters from big brother since we’ve been here, but no word from Carver. Leliana thinks something weird is happening with the Wardens, and she’s got this sort of sixth sense for shenanigans so I believe her. If you hear anything, please let me know as soon as you can. Sunshine won’t rest easy until we hear from Junior, and I can’t blame her._
> 
> _I’m hoping against hope that the worst is behind us. The mage-Templar mess is more or less over, at least, and that hole in the sky is getting closed soon. If we’re delayed longer than I think we will be, I may need you to take some money over to the Hanged Man so Corff doesn’t give my room away. You know I’m good for it. If you see any books on my shelves that you want to borrow while you’re there, help yourself._
> 
> _Say hello to Donnic._
> 
> _Varric_

* * *

The Hinterlands party made their triumphal return three days later, which was about as long as it took for Varric to start getting extremely twitchy. He made his way down to the paddock to greet Bethany, and watched from a distance as a rough-looking bearded fellow dismounted a horse they had given him. If he had to guess, this was probably the stray Warden they had been asked to find; he had that sort of grizzled, vaguely unwashed appearance many of them seemed to share.

“New recruit, Sunshine?” he inquired by way of a welcome back.

“New volunteer, more accurately,” she replied, handing off her reins to a groom. Horsemaster Dennet had given her one of his best chestnuts during her initial negotiation with him, a sort of living promissory note for more help in the future if she agreed to his terms, and it was her preferred mount. “That’s Blackwall, Warden-Constable of Orlais. He doesn’t know why the other Wardens have disappeared, but since we’re the only ones doing much of anything about, well, _anything_ , he’s decided to join us at least until we find out where they all went.” She shrugged. “I’m not turning away an experienced swordsman.”

“Fair enough, but I’m guessing that slump in your shoulders means he doesn’t have any idea where Junior is either.”

“None. He wasn’t even familiar with Carver’s name,” she said with a sigh. “But he’s been in Ferelden for the last several years, he said, so they’ve probably just never crossed paths. I knew it was a slim hope at best.” Bethany forced a smile. “Anything new and exciting here in Haven?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. This place is a bit desolate when it’s devoid of sunshine,” Varric teased. This was actually a fair assessment, in terms of both climate and personal preference, but he let it pass without further comment. “Going to check in with the big hats? I’ll walk with you.”

They waved at Bull and Krem as they passed before starting up the path to the Chantry. “Tiny and his boys seem to be settling in decently,” Varric reported. “They’re keeping Flissa busy, I can say that for sure, but they mind their manners.”

“I like them a lot,” she noted. “I didn’t expect to like a Qunari so much, after – you know – everything. But he’s so friendly and good-natured, it would be difficult _not_ to like him.”

“I know what you mean.”

* * *

About a week later, Haven was buzzing. Horsemaster Dennet had arrived in person; the Inquisition had fulfilled his requests, constructing watchtowers and driving out a demon which had taken control of the local wolf pack, and in return he had come to directly oversee the care and feeding of his horses. He’d barely been settled a full day when a small fleet of brontos came stomping up the path, herded by Lady Korpin and her band of miners, carrying the lyrium the mages needed to help Bethany seal the Breach.

“It’s really happening,” Varric overheard someone say. “It’s almost over.”

“And then what?” another voice asked. “What’ll we do then? A lot o’ these people are refugees, got nothin’ left but this.”

“Eh, there’s always another disaster. They’ll put us to work somehow.” Much as he deeply wanted to refute the notion of there being always another disaster, Varric had to agree.

It wasn’t a far trek from Haven to the Breach, of course; it was positioned directly over the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, around which the village had been built in the first place. Solas and Dorian took charge of what Cullen had termed ‘the best of the mages,’ arranging them around the crumbling battlements. Bethany flexed the fingers of her left hand, watching as the mark crackled and flared in such proximity to its source.

“You’ll be fine, Sunshine,” Varric told her. “There’s a big party waiting for us back at the village. You ready?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” she replied with a sigh. “You’d better get clear – I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“...all right. I won’t be too far. Good luck.”

He made his way to stand near Cassandra, who had a small group of soldiers handy in case anything came through the Breach as part of the sealing. Solas, meanwhile, was issuing orders to the waiting mages. “Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!”

 _Fancy talking, Chuckles, but what’s this going to do to **her**?_ Varric wondered. He tried not to frown; it wasn’t easy.

It was, in many ways, like watching Bethany seal the rifts in the Hinterlands – but on a much larger scale. A bolt of greenish lightning, for lack of a better description, connected her hand to the looming monstrosity overhead, all while the collected mages were doing their thing to augment her power. How long it took, Varric wasn’t entirely sure; time didn’t seem to have a lot of its previous meaning these days anyway.

Suddenly there was a burst of energy, like a massive wind sweeping through the ruined Temple and trying to knock them all off of their feet. Bethany tumbled violently backward, landing face down in the dirt, and it was only Cassandra’s longer legs that enabled her to reach Sunshine before Varric did. She helped Bethany get to her feet, checked that she was unharmed, and then the two women slowly raised their eyes to the sky overhead. Clouds swirled around the place where the Breach no longer was.

“You did it,” said the Seeker, and the cheers of victory rose deafeningly around them.

* * *

“Not bad for a day’s work, Sunshine,” he remarked later.

They returned to Haven to find carousing already in progress. Those who had remained in the village had seen the big green hole in the sky sew itself shut, and hadn’t waited for them to get back before they started partying. Varric supposed he couldn’t criticize them for it. A bonfire was roaring in the spot where he usually stood, and a few people had found (or improvised) instruments to play music so others could dance. Those who weren’t already in the thick of the celebrations quickly joined them, laughing and chatting and eating and drinking. For this one evening, at least, Haven was living up to its name; those who might have cursed each other’s names just weeks ago were partying together like lifelong friends. As the sun slid down behind the mountains, the festivities were threatening to continue well into the night.

Bethany, however, was not participating. She had taken up position behind Leliana’s tent, gazing down on the denizens of Haven as they celebrated her success without her. Varric was within arm’s reach, leaning against a stone brazier, not quite sure why she didn’t want to be involved. Maybe she was just more tired than she was letting herself show, he reasoned, and he could hardly be surprised at that. “You should eat something,” he said after a time, breaking the silence they had been cultivating.

“I’m not hungry,” she admitted. “I know I should be, I know it’s been hours since I last ate anything, but I’m just not hungry.” She glanced at him. “It’s over, we did what we set out to do, and I just have this overwhelming sensation of... now what?”

“I think I know what you mean. This has been the goal for months, and now that you’ve done it, it’s almost like we have to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives, or something.” He paused, thinking. “I guess... it almost feels like the end didn’t end. Like now the book is done and that should be the end of the story, but it isn’t.”

“Yes, that’s a good way to describe it.” She smiled briefly. “I knew you’d understand.”

Before Varric could say anything else, he saw Cassandra coming to join them. “Well, I guess we’re about to find out what comes next.” He straightened, watching her approach; she looked calmer than he had ever seen her.

“Solas confirms,” she reported, “that the heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed.”

“After all that? I would certainly hope so, Seeker,” Varric retorted.

She ignored him, addressing herself to Bethany. “We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory.”

Sunshine gave a little shrug. “I’ll take it.”

“Word of your heroism has spread,” Cassandra continued.

“And if it hadn’t, you know I’d make sure it did,” he added.

“A lot of people were involved. You know that.” Bethany shrugged again, and sighed. “We still don’t know what caused this – we can’t afford to relax just yet.”

“I agree.” The Seeker nodded. “One success does not guarantee peace. The immediate danger is gone; for some, so is the necessity of this alliance. The Inquisition will need new focus.”

Bethany opened her mouth; Varric found himself wondering, later, what it was she had been about to say. She wasn’t able to offer so much as a syllable when a warning bell started clanging, and in the distance, the mountainside was suddenly dotted with dots of light from countless torches.

“Forces approaching!” Cullen shouted. “To arms!”

“What the...?” Cassandra gave a slight growl, drawing her sword. “We must get to the gates!”

“Anybody ever tell you to be careful what you wish for, Seeker?” Varric grumbled, pulling Bianca from his back.

Weapons in hand, the three of them rushed down the walkway to the gate, where Josephine was joining Cullen. “One watchguard reporting,” he was saying. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” He pointed into the distance.

“Under what banner?” Ruffles asked.

“None.”

“ _None?_ ”

Varric, however, was watching Bethany, who was watching the bolted gate. A reddish light flared on its other side, just barely visible under the quivering boards, and then an unfamiliar voice called out petulantly. “I can’t come in unless you open!”

 _They’re talking to the door_ , he realized. Slowly, with her staff clutched in one hand, Bethany reached out with the other to open the gate, then instinctively took a step backwards at the sight of a Red Templar raising his sword. Almost at once, however, a blade shoved itself through his chest from behind; he promptly collapsed, revealing his killer to be a scrawny young man, with straw-colored hair and hauntingly large eyes under a ridiculous hat.

Varric and Cullen chased Bethany down to meet this peculiar figure. “I’m Cole,” he said. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you! You... probably already know.”

“I don’t understand,” said Bethany. She sounded half irritated, half afraid. “What are you telling me?”

“The Templars come to kill you,” he replied, in a creepy voice that sounded like it should be reading ghost stories by a campfire.

“Templars?” Cullen repeated, angry. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“Easy, Curly,” said Varric. “Let the kid talk.”

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” Cole explained, first to Cullen and then looking at Bethany again. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages. There.” He turned and pointed across the valley, to the nearest low summit, where – Varric presumed – this Elder One was standing. He himself couldn’t see much, being surrounded by tall people and tents.

“I know that man,” said Curly, slowly. Apparently, he could actually make out somebody’s face at that distance, which Varric had to admit was impressive. “But this Elder One...”

“Maker help us,” said Bethany, sounding horrified.

Troubled by her obvious fear, and annoyed that he still didn’t know what was happening, Varric shifted to peer around Cullen. He couldn’t get a clear look at the figures standing on the summit, but even he could see the waves of Red Templars beginning to march on Haven. Their torches lit the snow-filled night like dying stars.

Cole’s tone was oddly calm, almost serene. “He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages.”

* * *

Varric might have thought the entire experience was a nightmare, maybe the result of drinking Fereldan beer before going to sleep, except for the fact that dwarves were incapable of dreaming.

At first, all seemed well – for a given value of well, anyway. The trebuchets that Curly liked to carefully calibrate in his spare time were loaded, and set to fire on the distant mountains. One was jammed, and while Varric and the others did their best to keep the Red Templars distracted, Bethany threw herself into the effort to release it. She sent its load soaring into the sky, and they all watched as it collided with the mountain and sent an avalanche down to bury the Elder One’s army, halting it in its tracks.

Their joy was short lived. Varric had only just given Sunshine a congratulatory pat on the arm when they were both frozen in place by their shock as – he couldn’t have made this up if he tried – a giant, purple, scarred, hideous dragon came hurtling out of nowhere and started spitting fire at the village.

The village full of _wooden structures._

The only building, as Cullen was quick to acknowledge, which could offer any sort of protection against the flames was the Chantry, being made of stone. They all had to get there as fast as possible, but with a number of the residents of Haven trapped by blockades or sealed inside burning buildings, it wasn’t going to be quick work to release them. Bull all but dug Flissa out from under a collapsed beam; Blackwall broke down the door to Seggrit’s hut and dragged him out before he could get the idea to try to save his merchandise. Adan the apothecary and Minaeve the researcher, for reasons Varric couldn’t quite work out, were stuck together beneath a cart loaded with pots full of explosives, and it was a massive team effort for Bethany and her closest supporters to get them away from the area before everything went to the Void.

The quartermaster was doing a decent job holding her own against a group of the bastards by the time they reached her, and she relieved them of the weight of Flissa, whose leg was badly burned to the point where Bull was carrying her. “We’ve saved all we can,” Varric barked to the others. “Get into the Chantry! Let’s go!”

“Harritt!” Bethany shouted suddenly, taking off at a run. The blacksmith was still at the forge, and with a grunt of agitation, Varric chased after her. He arrived in time to see her blasting aside some boxes that were preventing him from getting into the smithy. Nearby, Dennet and his boys were rounding up the horses and herding them out of the paddock; where exactly they were going, Varric had no idea, but he hoped they knew.

“Sunshine, come _on_!”

The dragon was screaming in the distance.


	7. The Herald's Down!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall of Haven, and what came afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up to this point, I've more or less followed the linear timeline of the game. Once they get to Skyhold, you may notice that some things start happening in a slightly different order than you might expect. The story dictated that they be that way. I don't claim to understand it, I just do what the characters tell me... and in Varric's case, he's quite bossy sometimes.
> 
> The title of this chapter is what Varric says when the player character falls in battle.

They returned to the Chantry, where Chancellor Roderick was dying. That was a sentence Varric hadn’t expected anyone to say, but it was succeeded by an even stranger one; he’d taken his mortal wound from a Red Templar while trying to defend the other villagers. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad.

While Cole took charge of helping Roderick walk, Cullen came to greet Bethany and Varric with the news that the situation was borderline hopeless. This led into a conversation with the Chancellor, which Varric was only dimly able to follow thanks to the powerful headache that was brewing behind his eyes, but Roderick revealed that there was a sort of escape route which would lead the people of Haven into the nearby mountains. The mountains weren’t exactly the safest or most welcoming spot in Thedas, but they were, at least, lacking in Elder Ones and dragons.

Varric looked at Bethany, and didn’t like what he saw. He knew that expression on her face; he’d seen her brother wear it more than once. She was thinking, and she was planning, and she wasn’t telling him any of it.

“We need to get everyone out,” she said. “Roderick, you’re the only one who knows this path – I need you to lead the way. Varric, please help Cole take him to Mother Giselle, he needs healing if he’s to survive this journey.”

“What about you, Sunshine? What are you going to do?” He was damn near positive that she was either going to give him an answer he wouldn’t like or else she would give him no answer at all.

“I’ll help Cullen organize the escape. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Master Dennet’s probably taken the horses someplace safe, and we’ll need them to get everybody out of here.”

“I know, but...”

“Varric.” She actually smiled. “You’re a better talker than anyone I know. You can make everyone listen and understand what’s happening. Now please do this for me.”

He sighed. “I hate when you appeal to my ego, Sunshine. It always works. All right, but you’d better be right behind me or I’m going to be very annoyed with you.”

“That’s my dwarf. Maker watch over you,” she added, shooing him.

* * *

Mother Giselle was, unsurprisingly, trying to attend to those who had been injured in the kerfuffle. She had Cassandra shredding bed linens into makeshift bandages and dousing them with elfroot potion. “You are wounded, Master Tethras,” the priestess noted gently, seeing him approach, and for the first time Varric realized that he was bleeding.

“Maker’s breath, Varric, what did you do?” the Seeker asked him.

“Obviously I was lazing under a tree eating pastries,” he retorted, letting her apply a bit of bandage to the cut on his cheek. “Don’t fuss too much. We have to get out of here.”

“I assume there’s a plan?”

“There is, but I’ve only been informed of some of it. It seems that I’m currently on a need-to-know basis,” he grumbled. “The Chancellor here knows some secret escape route and he’s going to lead us into the mountains and away from this disaster. He needs healing and a horse.”

“Your man Dennet is out back,” Bull reported, joining them in time to overhear this. “My boys are helping his with the horses. The sooner we get out of here, the better off we’ll all be.”

“Where’s Cullen?” asked Cassandra.

“With the Herald. They’re making sure nobody’s left behind.” Varric caught sight of her wary expression, and turned away. “They’ll be along shortly. Let’s move. Bring everybody you can find – where’s Ruffles? Nightingale?”

“Red’s releasing her birds so they can get away. I think the ambassador’s bundling up some documents she has to save.”

Varric frowned. “Maybe I should go find her.”

“No offense, Varric, but… nope.” So saying, the Iron Bull _picked him up_ and carried him like a rag doll.

“Tiny! What are you doing?! Put me down!”

“Sorry – acting on orders from the commander. Cass, you get on a horse and I’ll put the little guy on there behind you.”

“All right.” Varric sorely disliked the impression he was getting, which was that Cassandra was a bit amused by his predicament. He couldn’t really see her face from his position over Tiny’s shoulder, however, so he decided to pretend she was as annoyed as he was. It made him feel better. Meanwhile, he kept watching the spot where they had been, waiting for Bethany to appear.

* * *

They emerged from the Chantry’s underbelly and found Dennet and the Chargers, who were helping assorted villagers onto the horses. Cassandra climbed into the saddle of a waiting mount, and Bull carefully positioned Varric behind her. “Do me a favor and never do this again,” said the dwarf, mildly.

“Not my fault Cullen didn’t want you running back to save Bethany.” Bull gave him a small smile. “We all know where your loyalties lie.”

“I guess I can’t argue. Curly!” Varric suddenly caught sight of Cullen, mounted on one of Dennet’s horses and barking orders to various soldiers. “Curly, where is she? Where’s the Herald!?”

“She’s assisting Minaeve,” Cullen replied, not quite meeting the dwarf’s gaze. “Minaeve’s leg was broken when that wagon toppled – the Herald is helping her get into one of the wagons, they’re just up ahead. Is this everyone, then?”

“It’s everyone we could find,” said Cassandra in a low, miserable voice. “Maker watch over the rest.”

Varric watched Cullen suspiciously. His bullshit meter was jangling hard, insisting that all was not as it seemed. But he couldn’t figure out exactly what the lie was, and he was a bit too high off the ground to go and find the truth. He’d just have to wait until he saw Bethany with his own eyes.

“We press on then,” Cullen said. If he sensed that Varric thought he was lying, he was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. “Bull, ride near the front, help herd the refugees. I’ll take up the rear. Dorian, you’re with me.”

Whatever Dorian said in response, Varric didn’t catch; he was preoccupied with keeping a firm grip on Cassandra’s belt. “Someone’s not being straight with me,” he grumbled, “and I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.” No one answered him. As the line of horses and people and wagons and whatever else was on the move surged forward into the swirling snow, it was entirely possible that no one had heard him.

He distracted himself somewhat by searching the faces of the fleeing villagers. He knew most of them by sight, if not by name, and with each recognized survivor he felt a tiny bit better. There was that one ex-Templar who had fought off a small contingent of her former brethren all by herself; the scout whom Curly had admonished for calling Charter a knife-ear; the young pair who spent their leisure time admiring the horses. He knew they hadn’t all escaped, it was too much to hope that they might, but Varric had long since learned to take his victories where he could.

By the time they were above the tree line, however, he had become more anxious than he’d felt in years. There was still no sign of Bethany anywhere that he could see, and when they came to an abrupt halt, it only agitated him farther. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why are we stopping?”

As if to answer his question, an arc of sparks shot up through the storm. This explained absolutely nothing, and they all stared up at the strange light as it soared through the air and then disappeared. They remained frozen in place, horses pawing nervously at the snowy ground; then, suddenly, there came a deafening sound from the distance, and the earth around them trembled. As the echoes of the crashing faded away, Cullen and Dorian suddenly rode into view from their place at the end of the line. There was something very... not right about Curly’s expression. “Move out,” he barked.

“Curly!” Varric roared, trying to be heard. “Cullen, _what did you do? **Where is she?**_ ”

“I’m sorry, Varric... and so is she.” The commander looked away, not quite able to face him, it seemed. “She knew there was no other way.”

Exactly what kept him from pitching out of the saddle, Varric wasn’t sure. Shock, maybe. “What did she do?” he managed. “Where... what was the explosion?”

“She... she caused an avalanche. To buy us time.” The words were heavy, reluctant. “She knew you wouldn’t leave Haven unless you thought she was already out of the settlement... she asked me to lie to you. She stayed behind to confront the Elder One, and launch the last trebuchet to bury the village. I’m sorry.”

“Andraste’s sanctified girdle.” He didn’t know what else to say; his mind was whirling. How would he explain this to Hawke? What would become of the Inquisition if the Herald of Andraste was no more? How could _any_ of them even begin to contemplate a world left dark by the loss of Sunshine? He felt numb, somehow. Varric was no stranger to loss, and he knew that it wasn’t a truly good story unless the hero died. But this wasn’t the story he wanted to tell.

For a moment, they were all silent, with only the wind wailing in their ears. Cullen finally spoke. “I really am sorry, Varric,” he repeated. “But I promised her I would get everyone to safety – to make sure she didn’t do this in vain. We need to press forward.”

“Right. Right. Go.” On some level, Varric understood. And maybe... maybe there was some kind of chance that Bethany had survived. He decided to hold onto that for a little while.

* * *

By the time the sun came up the next day, Varric was fairly certain he hadn’t slept at all.

There was no sign of the Herald, of course, and he wasn’t altogether surprised. He’d written enough tragedies to recognize them when they happened. The lack of Sunshine was having a detrimental effect on everybody’s morale, not just his own, but he rather flattered himself that nobody else was kicking themselves quite as hard about it as he was.

He’d promised, after all. He’d sworn up and down, to Hawke and to Cassandra and to Bethany herself, that he was staying right beside her and that he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Sure, she hadn’t exactly given him a whole lot of options, and probably nobody would blame him for any of it, but that didn’t let him off the hook for it any more than Bartrand’s betrayal left him off the hook for Junior having to turn Warden.

(He didn’t often say _thank the Maker for Blondie_ , but that one time... yes. The only reason Varric could forgive himself at all for what happened in the Deep Roads was the fact that Carver didn’t die, and if Anders hadn’t been with them, he probably would have.)

He left his bedroll and dragged himself out of the makeshift tent where he’d tossed and turned besides a couple of other vagabonds; he hadn’t even paid attention to who they were, although by the light of the new day he could see that he’d been shuffled in alongside a few of the Chargers. It didn’t especially matter who his bunkmates had been, but he _was_ glad to know for sure that Bull’s kids had made it. Leaving them still asleep, he followed his nose to a small cooking fire where one of Flissa’s women was attempting to put together a semblance of breakfast. Since food was not something anyone had really been in a position to grab in quantity, this was unlikely to succeed very well.

He changed direction and went in search of the advisors, who were clustered around a table. How in the world they had managed to salvage a _table_ , he couldn’t begin to guess; on closer inspection, however, it was less of an actual table and more like some boards propped up on some other boards. Maybe one of the blacksmith’s boys had thrown it together from some scrap wood, or chopped up a wagon, or something. He supposed it wasn’t important. They all appeared to be studying a map; well, Josephine had spent her final moments in Haven attempting to save a number of documents, and this was probably one of them. “Trying to figure out where we are?” he asked.

“More or less,” Cullen replied. His expression was a little wary as he surveyed the dwarf; Curly probably wasn’t entirely sure how responsible Varric considered him to be for Bethany’s fate. “It’s difficult to tell just how far we are from Haven, so it’s likewise difficult to know how...”

“How long we should wait,” Leliana finished, gently. “We cannot stay here indefinitely, of course, but neither do we want to leave too soon.”

“Makes sense. Well, how far do you think we might have come?”

“Right now, our best estimates come from Solas and his Fade wanderings.” Cassandra looked less than confident in this particular source of information. “He couldn’t give us anything firm, as he’s not in the habit of measuring distances when he’s dreaming. But judging by some natural landmarks and the speed at which we traveled, he believes we can be no more than three or four miles from the village.”

“And it’s been how long since... we left?” He couldn’t bring himself to mention the avalanche.

“Approximately fourteen hours,” Josephine reported. “Of that we can be more certain, owing to the positions of the moons and stars relative to the sealed Breach.”

“We’ll wait here at least until tomorrow morning,” Cullen insisted. “I have some scouts out searching for food – they know not to go too far. I don’t know what they’ll find, but with so many mouths to feed, we can’t linger for very long.” He spoke hesitantly, like he expected an argument.

Varric wasn’t inclined to give him one; he merely shrugged. “You do what you have to do. But I’d like to talk to you, Curly, in private. No offense, ladies.”

“None taken,” Leliana assured him.

* * *

The two men moved away from the table, wandering to the far side of the encampment. The runaway Inquisition had more or less sandwiched themselves into a sort of crevice in the mountains, a little offshoot of the valley in which they had escaped; whatever else could be said of the place, at least it wasn’t snowing sideways in there. “I’m not mad at you, kid,” said Varric, before Cullen could open his mouth. “I know her too well for that. I just want to know what she said – how this happened.”

“That’s fair. Well, she sent you to help Cole with Chancellor Roderick,” the commander began, “and then she and I started to discuss the survivability of the situation. Rather, the near impossibility of it. The only option that seemed open to us was to turn the last trebuchet and bury Haven, which would have killed all of us if not for the path that Roderick mentioned.”

“And meanwhile the Elder One wanted Bethany, so she decided to be live bait again, like she was for Alexius.” Only this time she had gone alone to be the bait, no loyal supporters or hidden Tevinter ally to protect her.

“Exactly.” Cullen nodded. “But she knew you wouldn’t leave her, given the choice... so she decided not to give you the choice. You would have gotten yourself killed to protect her, Varric, and she couldn’t allow that. She said, ‘If I’m going to get through this, I’ve got to believe that the rest of you have a fighting chance. He won’t if he stays – the Elder One will cut him down right in front of me.’ She told me to tell you just what I did, that she was assisting some of the other wounded and would meet up with you later, until after I sent up the signal that told her to release the trebuchet. Once that happened, she told me to tell you she was sorry.”

“So... was it your idea or hers for Bull to carry me out of the Chantry so I couldn’t slip away undetected?”

Cullen blinked, and in spite of the gravity of the situation, he gave a small chuckle. “I can’t say that either of us gets the credit for that. I told Bull to make sure you left the building with the others, but I gave no specific instructions. That was all his own doing.”

Varric sighed. “Like I said, I’m not mad. I sort of want to be, but I can’t. If her situation and mine were reversed, I’m sure I’d have done the same thing.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it.” The commander’s smile was weary and sympathetic. “She’s in the Maker’s hands now... but she is a Hawke.”

“Yeah. And Hawkes aren’t easily grounded.” He sighed again. “Thanks, Curly.”

* * *

 _Hawkes aren’t easily grounded_. The thought sustained him throughout the ensuing day, and he tried to make the words loud enough in his head to drown out fear and exhaustion and a host of other negative feelings. The scouting party returned with very little to show for their foraging efforts; Varric had no doubt that they’d tried, but meals weren’t easy to find in a blizzard. Still, two rams were better than nothing, and the Chantry sisters had a few edible herbs among their supplies. It wasn’t much, but it would keep the group alive for a little while longer.

Varric didn’t partake of the resultant stew, however. Hungry as he was, he had no appetite. He wandered around the campsite, looking for ways to make himself useful – helping Josephine make lists, taking inventory of supplies, parking himself by the fire and entertaining some of the villagers with a story. Anything to keep himself from thinking too much, wondering too much, worrying too much.

But as the sun started to set again, it became increasingly more difficult to quiet that side of his mind.

_She’s been alone for a whole day now, or nearly. Did the avalanche destroy this Elder One? Was she hurt? Did she get away? Is there anything left of Haven? What about the dragon? Hawke, how do I even begin to tell you about this?_

In the valley, the storm had finally quieted. How long that would last, Varric had no idea, but he half expected the advisors to decide that the lull in the weather was a good time for them to set out once again. The horses were decently rested, the people more or less likewise, and they were going to need a consistent food source before very much longer. He almost didn’t dare to breathe as he waited for the directive to pack up; if they left, Bethany would be that much farther behind, and their trail would grow too cold to follow when the storms resumed – no pun intended.

He was relieved, therefore, when no such order came. It was too dark, maybe. Or maybe they weren’t ready to give up hope either. He folded his arms and leaned sideways against one of the posts supporting Mother Giselle’s tent, where Chancellor Roderick lay gasping on a bedroll. The sky overhead had turned a dark purple, the black of night slowly bleeding into the color like spilled ink.

Ink. Varric closed his eyes. Whenever they found a place to land, wherever that might be, he would need ink. And a quill, and paper. And words. How would he even begin this tale?

_Hawke, I don’t know how to tell you this._

_Hawke, she faced him alone._

_Hawke, there’s a big pile of snow where the village used to be._

_Hawke... we don’t know where she is now._

_Hawke, I failed her. I failed you. I’m so sorry._

* * *

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that for a time, no sound reached him, nothing pierced his reverie. He was a single dwarf in a world that now felt terrifyingly large, and cold, and very dark.

Gradually, however, noises began to assert themselves on his consciousness. They were subtle at first, little more than whispers, but slowly grew to reveal themselves as individual voices. One sentence finally roused him, and caught his attention properly.

“Find Varric!”

He opened his eyes and turned to look for the source. There seemed to be a lot of activity all of a sudden, people running and moving and pushing each other out of the way. It was, he realized, Dorian who was trying to find him.

“I’m here,” he said, but the words were ragged. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Sparkler, I’m here!”

The crowd blocking his view parted, and the Tevinter cut a path through them. He looked almost sickly, which Varric found disquieting. “This way,” he called over his shoulder. Looking back at Varric, however, he finally broke into a smile. “I suppose one _might_ call this ‘fashionably late,’ yes?”

He stepped aside, then, to reveal Curly trudging toward them, with a limp and exhausted bundle in his arms. Varric felt his eyes grow wide, and all the breath seemed to leave his lungs.

“...Sunshine?”

“Bring her here,” said Mother Giselle urgently. They cobbled together a few blankets and laid her on the pile, draping her in a few more. She looked paler than usual, and her eyes were barely open, but she shifted her head slightly and let her gaze dart back and forth.

“Varric?”

“I’m here.” He moved to where she could see him, and seized the hand she held out to him. “You are in serious trouble, young lady.”

Her smile was brief; then she winced. Another mage was already applying healing magic. “She seems to have managed to heal herself,” he reported, glancing up from the task, “at least enough to walk, but she needs rest. A lot of it.”

“We probably don’t have time for a lot of rest, but we’ll give her what we can,” Cullen replied.

Bethany shook her head a little. “Varric,” she said, and this time her tone was urgent, “the Elder One. It’s _him_.”

“Him? Who him?”

Her lip trembled. “ _Corypheus_.”

“That...” Varric blinked a few times. “That’s not possible,” he said finally. “Your brother killed him!”

“I know!” He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so rattled, although the fact that she was partially frozen might have had something to do with it. “You and I both watched him die! But there he was, right there in Haven. And he _remembered_ me, Varric.” She was shaking now, almost violently; he wrapped her bare hand in his gloved ones. “He knew me immediately. ‘The blood of the Hawke,’ he said. ‘You were there when I awoke. I did not know you, when you stole the Anchor – but I know you now.’ That’s what he calls this thing,” she added, indicating her marked hand. “The Anchor. It was supposed to let him do... something. Enter the Fade, I think. I was a bit out of my mind, so I can’t swear I’m getting all the details right.”

“It’s all right. Take your time,” he urged her. “You don’t have to tell us now, anyway, you should rest.”

She shook her head again. “He remembered me,” she repeated. “He would have remembered you too. I’m sorry I lied to you, but...”

“Let’s face it – like I told Curly, I’d have done the same thing if our situations were reversed,” he admitted. “It mostly surprised me. You don’t lie very often, I didn’t know you were good at it.”

“I guess I learned from the best.”

Varric chuckled. “There’s my Sunshine. All right, you get some sleep, and we can talk about this when you wake up. Okay? I won’t be far.”

Bethany nodded wearily, barely more than a head bob, and her eyes slid shut once more. Varric carefully slipped off his leather gloves and eased them onto her hands; they were much too big for her, of course, but they were warm and that was what mattered. Turning, he saw Cullen, Dorian, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana standing in a cluster. “I guess you were all listening?”

“We’ll need proper details after she gets some rest,” said Leliana, “but this Elder One... you’ve met him in the past?”

He nodded. “In the Vimmark Mountains. Like I told you, Seeker – he somehow got control of a bunch of Carta dwarves and was sending them after the Hawkes. Apparently, their father was involved in creating a blood seal on the place where the Grey Wardens had him locked up, and so he needed ‘the blood of the Hawke’ to get himself out again. It was all very weird. But he was dead when we walked out of that stronghold.”

“How does a man die and then come back?” Cullen asked.

“Corypheus is many things, but I wouldn’t call him a _man_ ,” Varric retorted. “I guess he was, once, but unless he was a lot better at making shit up than I am, he’s one of the original darkspawn – those magisters who broke into the Golden City and failed to redecorate.”

“Is... is that even possible?” Josephine sounded both awed and terrified.

“At this point, Ruffles, I’m starting to think that damn near anything is possible.”


	8. Acting All Inspirational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of the Hawke siblings reunite. Cassandra doesn't take it well.

After not nearly enough hours of desperately needed sleep, Bethany woke up, got frankly annoyed with the advisory council bickering amongst themselves, and might have given them a few choice words if Mother Giselle hadn’t interrupted to lead the faithful in a hymn. It reminded Varric of why he enjoyed the story of Andraste so much – heroism, love, betrayal, and random musical numbers.

(On balance, he realized that Bethany’s own story was filled with the same things. It had her own heroism and that of her brothers; the love of her family and friends; the betrayal of Orsino; and now this.)

She then had some kind of private interview with Solas. Varric might have eavesdropped, but he was diverted by the news that Chancellor Roderick had died while the Inquisition was singing. A couple of the younger men were preparing a pyre for him. Those not directly involved in that project or other duties were starting to tear down the camp; with their Herald restored to them, it seemed foolish to tempt fate by remaining there any longer. Varric had no objection to moving, now that Bethany was among them again, but he didn’t have much hope of the scenery improving anytime soon.

When daylight found them, they started the press further into the valley. Solas, apparently, had given Bethany directions to a structure he knew well from the Fade, some kind of castle nestled in the Frostbacks which could provide the new home the Inquisition urgently required. With stone walls around them instead of wooden huts, they would be better protected from the dragon; and in an isolated fortress which had been forgotten by time, it would be a while before Corypheus could find them.

Bethany rode behind Varric on the chestnut Dennet had given her, on the grounds that Sunshine had some difficulty remaining upright in the saddle and occasionally needed to slump against his stocky frame. Dorian walked beside them, carrying Bianca; while this was helpful, in the sense that it meant Bethany didn’t have to try to rest against the crossbow, the Tevinter clearly had an ulterior motive for volunteering. He was particularly keen to learn more about Corypheus, and badgered Varric to regale him with the details of their adventure in the Vimmark Mountains. “So, you two actually met this Corypheus before?” he asked curiously.

“We didn’t have tea and crumpets, Sparkler,” Varric retorted. “We were there when he woke up.” He didn’t really like talking about it, but at least it would help to kill time somewhat; if Chuckles had an accurate read on their location, it would take a couple of weeks for them to find this Skyhold place.

“And he said, what? ‘Hello, I'm one of the magisters who broke into the Black City. Pleased to meet you!’?”

“More like, ‘Argh, I'm a darkspawn! Dumat! Dumat!’ Then Hawke killed him.” Varric shrugged lightly.

“Not very well, it appears.”

“Tell me about it,” Bethany muttered

Dorian had the decency to look ashamed. “My apologies, that was unworthy. No offense intended.” He shook his head. “One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad – that should be enough for anyone to handle, yes? Then, out of nowhere, an archdemon appears and kicks you in the head! ‘What? You thought this would be easy?’ ‘No, I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill!’ ‘Sorry about that! Archdemons like to crush, you know!’” He smirked at Bethany, whose expression Varric couldn’t see. “Am I speaking too quickly for you?”

“I was just a little distracted, that’s all,” she replied. Her voice was tired, but amused, and Varric felt himself relax a bit. If she’d been even slightly insulted by Sparkler’s diatribe, he wouldn’t have responded well.

“Distracted? By my wit and charm? I have plenty of both.”

“Perhaps.” Varric hadn’t expected her to say that, and stifled a snicker.

“Oh! You wound me.” Dorian laughed. “But enough distraction. Do please continue relating the story, Varric.”

“Should I include the ‘No shit, there we were’ opening, or is it just implied?”

“Far be it from me to dictate how the master storyteller should conduct himself.” Dorian smirked again.

“I knew I liked you, Sparkler. Well...”

* * *

A few of Leliana’s messenger birds found them, finally. She’d released the entire flock so they would have a chance of escape, but their loyalty was like nothing Varric had ever seen in a bird. A mabari, sure, but a bird? Never. But it was good news, because he had the means now to alert Hawke to the altered situation. He felt a little guilty to be filching Josephine’s paper and ink, when she’d been able to bring so little; but his coin was good, and once they were settled, he’d arrange for replacements.

 

> _Hawke,_
> 
> _I can’t write much lest the Seeker catch sight of me. I don’t know whether you’ve heard about the destruction of Haven, but just in case you did, let me start by saying that Bethany and I are okay._
> 
> _That’s the good news._
> 
> _The bad news is that we know who our enemy is now, because he attacked us there. Remember that little trip we made into the Vimmark Mountains, you and me and the twins? Remember that thousand-year-old menace whose tomb we unlocked and you killed him with your father’s old weapon? Turns out he’s not so dead, and he’s been the one behind everything._
> 
> _I’m not going to tell you I know how he’s still alive. This shit doesn’t make any sense to me – it doesn’t even make that much sense to your sister, and she speaks magic. But if you can, we need you to come and help us. This is a bigger mess than we expected._
> 
> _We’re heading north to some castle called Skyhold. I expect that the word will be out before very long that this is the new home of the Inquisition, so if you ask around with refugee caravans and such, they’ll probably know where to go. Hope to see you soon, buddy._
> 
> _Varric_

 

Skyhold, as it turned out, really was exactly what Solas described it as being – a massive castle stronghold. Some of the walls had crumbled, a few of the roofs on assorted structures needed replacing, and it was in the ass-end of nowhere. But the one thing Varric hadn’t expected it to be, it was.

Warm.

For some magical reason that he couldn’t be bothered to comprehend, the frigid nature of the Frostbacks didn’t penetrate the curtain wall. Within the grounds of Skyhold, the air was temperate and the grass was green. After weeks of snowy landscape, Varric thought, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to see grass of any color, let alone green.

The first few days were a constant bustle of comings and goings – horses, wagons, people, boxes. Scaffolding had to be constructed, tents erected for the injured, areas barricaded off until they could be used safely. With the continuous barrage of noise and activity, it was easy for one dwarf to get somewhat lost. Maybe it shouldn’t have been, given his usual proximity to Bethany; but she was still being fussed over by healers and advisors alike, and sometimes he slipped away to check for a response from Hawke.

* * *

They’d been in the fortress for not quite a week when the bearded rogue put in an appearance. Cassandra had just summoned Bethany to a small discussion, leaving Varric standing by himself in the castle’s lower bailey. That close to the gate, it maybe wasn’t too astonishing that someone could sneak up on him, but it still took him by surprise to feel the hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t say anything,” the familiar voice rumbled quietly. “Let’s not draw attention just yet. But I’m here.”

The dwarf chuckled, weakly. “Keep your hood up,” he murmured, seeing Cullen and Josephine approaching the area. They seemed to be herding a number of the other castle residents into the space as well, and there was a lot of low chatter. Amid all the mutterings, Varric could discern only one word clearly – _Inquisitor_.

And then he looked up, to the landing of the stairs leading into the keep, and he saw Cassandra standing with Leliana and a thoroughly bewildered-looking Bethany. “Oh, Andraste’s ass, what are they doing to her now?” As he watched, she slowly accepted a sword from Leliana’s hands.

“Have our people been told?” Cassandra called out in a ringing voice.

“They have – and soon, the world!” Josephine replied.

“Commander, will they follow?”

Cullen was practically beaming as he turned to the assembled crowd, looking for all the world like some kind of stage actor. “Inquisition, will you follow?” he asked, lifting one hand. The response was an affirmative cry. It was all very dramatic, almost like something Varric could have dreamed up for one of his books. “Will you fight?” he continued, lifting the other hand. Another cry. “Will we triumph?” The response was louder this time, and he pulled his sword as he whirled around to point it in Bethany’s direction. “Your leader – your Herald – your Inquisitor!”

On the landing, Bethany stared at the roaring throng, and then raised her own sword as if in reply. “Well,” Hawke said, for Varric’s ears only, “I guess neither of us is going to be sleeping much for the foreseeable future.”

Bethany and the advisors were heading up the stairs into the keep. “Listen, I’ll go figure out how to tell her you’re here,” said Varric. “You head up to the ramparts – those up there are probably the easiest to reach.” He pointed. “As soon as I can get her away from the others, I’ll bring her to you. Just – whatever you do, don’t let Cassandra catch sight of you.”

Garrett Hawke chuckled. “Bethany wouldn’t let her kill you. And from what we just heard, Bethany’s in charge now. You should be safe.”

“Yeah... you don’t actually _know_ Cassandra.”

Leaving him, Varric made his way to the keep, slipping through the open doors to hear them talking about the things Bethany had learned from her trip to the bad future. The demon army and the assassination of Empress Celene were high priority issues to prevent. “Do you know very much about Corypheus, beyond what you’ve told us?” Cullen asked her.

“Not really. We never found any records of him or any other information beyond a few scattered journal pages on the ground in the prison,” she said. “Assuming he is what he’s always claimed to be, I would imagine the Chantry did its best to erase him from history. Maybe there would be more information in Tevinter – Dorian said he’d see what he could find.”

“I might be able to help,” Varric piped up, prompting them all to turn and look at him. He silently thanked the Maker that Cassandra was not in the room with them. “Everyone acting all _inspirational_ gave me an idea, so I sent a letter to an old friend. He’s here in the castle and wants to lend the Inquisition whatever support he can.”

The advisors exchanged puzzled glances. Bethany, however, kept her gaze trained on him. “Well, we can certainly never have too many friends for our cause. I can’t wait to meet him,” she said.

Varric tried not to smile. The look in her eyes was unmistakable – Sunshine _knew_ what he had done, and she was doing her best not to appear too excited about it. Well, he saw no reason to keep them apart any longer than necessary. He directed her to head up to the battlements and, several minutes later, watched her fling herself into the burly embrace of her eldest brother.

“When Varric wrote to say that _you_ were the survivor of the blast, it was bad enough. But then he wrote me that it’s all the fault of that damned Corypheus – I couldn’t get here fast enough,” said Hawke, finally releasing his little sister. “Maker’s breath, Bethany. I should have taken you on the ship with us.”

“We split up to throw off the Chantry,” she reminded him. “We had no way of knowing they wouldn’t pursue. Where’s Carver, have you heard from him at all? He hasn’t answered my letters!”

“Ah, there’s a reason for that.” Hawke looked grim. “The Orlesian Wardens are having some serious problems. They’re acting very strangely, and when Carver tried to point out the issues, they turned on him. He managed to get a distress call to us and we pretty much smuggled him out of Lydes – he’s in hiding in Ferelden.”

“That can’t be good...”

“It isn’t. But he’s safe enough for the moment.” Hawke shook his head. “We’ll sit down, the four of us” – his nod included Varric – “and go over everything. Then we can figure out what route the Inquisition should take.” He looked a little wistful, and hugged her again.

* * *

This was all well and good, but not long after Varric slipped off to give the siblings a bit of privacy, he found himself dealing with a new problem – specifically, dodging Cassandra’s wrath. He wasn’t sure how she learned Hawke was in the castle. Maybe she’d seen them on the battlements, or maybe one of the advisors had suspected the truth and let it slip. Whatever the case, she met him on the threshold of the newly reopened tavern, the Herald’s Rest, and the fury in her face was unmistakable. She knew.

“You _lied_ to me! You knew where Hawke was the whole time!”

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?!”

“You conniving little _shit_!”

She chased him through the tavern, up to the mostly unoccupied second floor, and took a few swings which he only barely managed to duck. Varric genuinely thought she was going to kill him, especially when she attempted to _throw a table at him_ ; he honestly didn’t know whether to be grateful or concerned when Bethany – apparently drawn by the sounds of their scuffling – suddenly appeared in the vicinity. “Stop it!”

“And you!” Cassandra whirled on the Inquisitor, eyes flashing dangerously. “Did you lie too? You said you didn’t know where your brother was! Was it all subterfuge?”

“Don’t you _dare_ take this out on her,” Varric growled, moving to stand in front of Bethany. Cassandra actually checked herself when she saw whatever the expression was on his face. “She _never_ lied to you! Her brother hid himself from her for her protection – so that someone like _you_ couldn’t force her to give him up!”

“We could have had Hawke at the Conclave! If anyone could have saved Most Holy…”

“He’s here now! We’re on the same side!”

“I _was_ at the Conclave,” Bethany reminded Cassandra. “And I couldn’t save her. So I wouldn’t venture to assume that my brother could have.”

This seemed to take some of the wind out of Cassandra’s sails. Varric scowled. “You know what I think? If Hawke had been at that Conclave, he’d be dead too. You people have done enough to him – to all of them.”

“Enough,” said Bethany, in her soft way. Varric untensed slightly. “Varric’s not to blame for what happened at the Conclave, Cassandra. And as you might have noticed by now, neither am I – at least, not that I can tell. None of us can change the past, so let’s just move forward.”

The Seeker sat down, heavily, in a nearby chair. “Go, Varric,” she said quietly. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her. “Just go.”

* * *

He wouldn’t have left just because she directed it, not with Bethany still there; but the Inquisitor nodded at him, and gave his shoulder a pat. Somewhat reluctantly, he ambled down the stairs and out into the sunshine, back to the ramshackle main hall inside the keep.

The place was kind of a dump, really. Half the roof was lying on the floor, along with a couple of chandeliers and candelabra. At the far end there was a miraculously undamaged wall of elegant stained glass, which would form a striking backdrop to the throne he imagined would soon be positioned on the dais there. The room didn’t really hold much of anything except promise, but maybe, for the moment, that was enough.

There was a fireplace not far from the door, and someone – for whatever reason – had lit the hearth. He leaned against a table which was in less dire straits than the rest of the room’s contents and let the warmth wash over him, staring into the flames.

He was still there when Bethany found him some little while later.

“Oh, good, there you are. Are you all right, Varric?” she asked.

“Well, that depends. How angry is Cassandra?” He watched her over his shoulder.

“It should be all right now. She’s calmed down.”

“Define ‘calmed down’ in terms of who or what she’s punching.”

She chuckled a little. “I think she understands, now, why you kept your secrets. And it’s not like either of us really knew where Garrett was at any particular moment. What would she have done, combed the Waking Sea until she found Isabela’s ship?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” he admitted.

Bethany moved to his side and folded her arms, watching the fire like he had been doing. “The long and short of it is this,” she said in her gentle way. “Whatever else Cassandra thinks of you, she knows that you’re loyal to me. And I’m the Inquisitor now, whatever that means, so by extension you’re loyal to the Inquisition. I know you would be anyway, because that’s the sort of person you are, but Cassandra doesn’t know you as well as I do. That means she has to trust me on this. And she says she has no regrets about my ending up in the position.”

“That’s... something, I guess.” He turned to look at her more directly. “I meant what I said back in Haven. As long as you’re here, I’ll be here. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know it, Varric.” She smiled. “It’s my biggest comfort, after all.”

“I do what I can.”

“And if you have to hide behind me from Cassandra, that’s all right too,” she added, more playfully.

Varric snorted. “There’s my Sunshine.”


	9. Finish My Worst Series

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot crawls through the Fallow Mire and Swords and Shields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the working title of this story for months was "Varric Tethras and the Continual Nervous Breakdown."

Things were actually quiet for five seconds, which at this point always managed to catch Varric by surprise.

They hadn’t yet set out to meet Bethany’s brothers in Crestwood; there were a lot of loose ends which required tying up first. In particular, the Inquisition had needed to deal with some mercenaries in the Hinterlands – first removing them from the old manor house where they’d set up shop, and then decimating their Carta connections inside an ancient dwarven outpost called Valammar. Varric was considering sending a letter to let Orzammar know that the interior was still largely intact, in case King Bhelen wanted to send some people to recover the however-many-ages-old books and artifacts still languishing on the shelves; there even seemed to be a burial vault on the lower level. Also darkspawn, but the closer one got to the Deep Roads, the more likely that was.

They returned to Skyhold following this venture to find that the keep had been tidied considerably in their absence, and work was progressing on the much-needed repairs. Morale was high, according to Curly. Bull’s Chargers were dispatched to the ruins of Haven, where a memorial was being constructed, to see if there were any items to be recovered or stragglers to be collected.

“There’s actually quite a bit we’re going to have to handle before we can meet up with Garrett and Carver,” Bethany told him, a little morosely, after discussing everything with the advisors. “We’ve had word from Scout Harding – she’s in the Fallow Mire, down south of here, and some of the Avvar have kidnapped a patrol of our soldiers. From what we’ve been told, they’re being held hostage in order to ensure that I’ll come down there personally. I don’t quite understand all of it, but their chief’s son wants to challenge me to combat or something like that. Harding says she’ll explain the situation in more detail once I get there.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Neither do I, but it has to be done. You’re staying here,” she added. “The Fallow Mire is worse than the Storm Coast as far as being soggy – it’s a giant marsh. I’m half afraid I’d lose you in the water.” She forced a smile. “I’ll take Blackwall and Cole, I think, and Solas. Maybe Cassandra too, I’m sure you and she could use a little distance between you.”

“I won’t argue with that, but are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

“I want you to be safe and dry. So you stay here, and answer your mail.” She shook her head. “Before I do that, though, I have to nip down to Redcliffe with Dorian tomorrow. It’ll be a quick trip, just him and me, to deal with a little personal matter for him. We should be back well before nightfall.”

“Hm.” Varric digested that. “Well, Redcliffe’s pretty safe. You and Sparkler should be all right by yourselves.”

“I’m a big tough Inquisitor, you know, I tie my own bootlaces and everything,” Bethany teased him.

“Madam!” He laughed. “Are you implying that I have less than every confidence in you? Perish the thought.”

She smiled. “Shall I bring something back for you?”

“I can’t think of a request. But if the merchants happen to have anything that matches your eyes, you know what to do.”

* * *

Varric had to admit that it was good for Bethany to be off on her little day trip with Dorian. Mage bonding time and all that. The two of them were fond of one another, and some time by themselves might be just what the doctor ordered.

Bethany’s absence was also good for Varric in one respect; he needed to write and send a rather specific letter, and her being away gave him the perfect opportunity. He didn’t want to answer questions about it, not even from her.

 

> _Bianca,_
> 
> _I’ll keep this brief. Remember the red stuff? There’s more of it. I was in Haven when the Divine’s Conclave blew to pieces, and it turned out there was a ton of the stuff growing under the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I’ve started to see it in other places too._
> 
> _Still can’t find anyone who can tell me what it is, but I figured you’d want to know._ _Hope all’s well. Look after yourself._
> 
> _V._

Short and to the point. When it came to Bianca, that was the only kind of letter to send. He couldn’t really write to her directly, of course, but there was a place where he could send them that she’d get them eventually, not entirely unlike his arrangement with Hawke. He commandeered a messenger bird and got the parchment on its way before he could have any sort of second thoughts on the matter. Next up, bills of lading, unless he could find someone to help him procrastinate with a few hands of Wicked Grace.

The little mage delegation returned by dinnertime, neither of them the worse for wear as far as Varric could tell, and the main topic of conversation among Bethany’s companions was the impending trip down to the Fallow Mire. “By the time you get back,” said Bull, “my boys should be on their way back from Haven, hopefully with some good news.”

“We’ve all got a lot on our plates in the coming weeks,” Josephine reported, delicately cutting into her food. “Reports are pouring in from what feels like every corner of Ferelden and Orlais. Crestwood is being assaulted by undead, the river has frozen in the Emprise du Lion and the people are starving, and there’s something curious happening in the Emerald Graves. Scout teams have already been dispatched to all of these areas, but I imagine they’ll require a more... personal touch from the Inquisitor.”

“We’re not going to have any chances to get bored; is that what you’re saying, Ruffles?”

“That is certainly one way of putting it, Varric.”

* * *

Varric didn’t frequent the courtyard too often; it constituted going outside, something he liked to avoid as much as possible. But the occasional visit was good even for him, and he headed out there the following afternoon. To be more precise, he was looking for Bethany, since he knew she was preparing for her sojourn to the Fallow Mire.

Instead, he came across Dorian, sitting on a bench with a book in his hands. “Sparkler, what are you doing here? Isn’t this the hour when you’re usually trying to one-up Curly on the chessboard?”

“I don’t merely try, I succeed,” Dorian replied breezily. “But another mage stopped by for a game today, so I cleared the floor.” He gestured with his head to where Cullen and Bethany were conducting a chess match of their own.

Varric glanced across the courtyard at the gazebo. The sun was glinting on Curly’s hair like it was actually made of gold; oh, he needed to write that down, that was pretty good. Neither of them seemed entirely focused on the game, he thought. As he watched, they seemed to alternate between nudging pieces and speaking intently. _Now what’s that all about?_ It was a good minute before he realized Dorian was speaking to him again.

“Normally I would be a little insulted to think I can be so easily replaced,” came the chuckling remark, “but I’m led to believe the Commander and the Inquisitor know each other from the Circle in Kirkwall, yes? Varric?”

“What?” He turned back to Dorian. “Yeah, they go back some. Technically they knew each other before the Circle, a little, but inside the Gallows they were better acquainted.”

“Ah, of course.” His tone was genuine as he too watched the chess match that was playing out before them. “If only more former Templars and former Circle mages got along so well.”

“Yeah. He screwed up a lot, actually, but he’d be the first to say so,” Varric noted. “He tried. He was better than some.”

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve all ‘screwed up’ at some point or another. The world needs more of that willingness to admit it – perhaps then we wouldn’t be in all the messes we’re in,” Dorian mused. He paused at the sound of Bethany’s laugh. “We could use more of that, too.”

“We can never have too much of that for my liking,” Varric agreed vaguely. _What are they laughing about? I think that’s the most I’ve heard her laugh since all this began._ He shook his head. “Long as she’s enjoying herself... she needs that.”

“Indeed.” They fell silent again, listening to the conversation between the two players. It wasn’t entirely discernible; the courtyard was relatively quiet, but the gazebo was at too great a distance for proper eavesdropping. Bethany seemed to be asking Cullen a question, and her response to his answer had a sort of playfully scolding appearance. Curly, for his part, looked somewhat amused by whatever they were discussing. There was a funny little smile playing about his lips every time he glanced at her.

Varric suddenly felt like he was intruding. He shook his head again. “I should go write some letters, Sparkler. I’ll see you later.”

Dorian glanced from Varric to where Bethany was smiling and back again, but whatever was in his mind, he did not voice. Instead he shrugged. “Enjoy yourself. You know where I’ll be.”

* * *

By the time he got to speak with her, Varric had actually forgotten what it was he wanted to discuss with Bethany. He was sitting by the fire, reading a letter from his editor, when she came in looking for all the world like the cat who swallowed the proverbial canary. “Good game, Sunshine?” he asked, glancing up.

“Oh, you heard about that? Why am I not surprised?” She chuckled and shrugged. “I lost by a landslide, but that wasn’t really unexpected. I’ve played chess maybe twice in the last five years, and I think Cullen is a natural strategist.”

“Probably true. So why the grin?”

“Well, you and Cassandra still have problems, and I think I’ve just found the solution.”

He paused, and put down the letter. “All right, you’ve got me curious. What do you have in mind?”

“She’s waiting for the resolution of _Swords and Shields_.” Bethany looked almost triumphant.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. It sounded like you said Cassandra read my books.” Varric paused again. “Wait, did you say the romance serial? She’ll be waiting for a while – I hadn’t finished it and wasn’t planning on it. You know I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever written, Sunshine.”

“I know you do, but Cassandra is a pretty big fan. And I never thought it was as terrible as all that,” she added.

“ _You_ read it?”

“Didn’t I ever tell you?” she inquired innocently.

“You most certainly did not. I can’t decide if I’m more flattered or concerned.” Truthfully, he was more amused than anything.

Bethany giggled. “Isabela sent it to me when I was in the Circle. She said it was probably more to my tastes than some of the other books she would slip my way, and she was right.”

“That explains it. So... you want me to finish writing my worst series for Cassandra?”

“Well, also for me,” she admitted, “because I’d like to know how it ends too, but yes. Mostly for Cassandra. I caught her reading it just now and she begged me not to tell you.”

“So, naturally, you _immediately_ came and told me.” He laughed.

“To be fair, she realized what she was asking me right away. ‘Of course you will tell Varric, you two are thick as thieves,’ she said.” Her impression of Cassandra’s heavy Nevarran accent was hilariously dreadful. “So I told her, ‘I’ve read that book too. I wouldn’t mind knowing how it ends.’ That seemed to make her feel a little better – she doesn’t want me to ask on _her_ behalf, but if I ask you for _myself_ , that’s a different matter. But I think if you write an ending to the story and let her have the first copy, it might ease some of the tension between you two.”

“I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around it. You want me to finish my worst series... for _Cassandra_.” Varric paused, and chuckled. “That’s such a terrible idea, I have to do it.”

“It’ll give you something to keep you busy while we’re in the Fallow Mire rescuing those soldiers,” she suggested. “Then you won’t worry as much.”

“I can’t promise _that_ , but I’ll see what I can do about this other part. You know, the fact that the series is terrible just makes it all worthwhile, somehow. One condition, Sunshine,” he added. “I want to be there when you give it to her.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Bethany laughed again.

* * *

Varric was grateful for the distraction, because as much as he appreciated not being taken to a place where the water could very well have come up to his eyeballs, he still hadn’t reached a point where he was comfortable allowing the Inquisitor out of his sight for days at a time. It was entirely possible that he would never actually reach such a point. After all, he had promises to keep, and that was hard to do when the object of those promises was in a completely different part of the continent. Being able to focus his attention on the plight of the Guard-Captain and her wayward lover was, therefore, very helpful.

Besides, if he was honest with himself (something he tried not to be any more often than necessary), it _had_ always bothered him that he never finished the story. He disliked it intensely, and it had barely made back enough money to pay for the ink he had used to write it, but there was something incredibly distasteful about leaving things as open-ended as he had. For that reason, at least as much as any other, he got to work. The quill tip meandered over the pages, the words coming to him much more readily than he had expected; it was still a terrible story, but at least it would be a _complete_ terrible story. All around him, the masons and carpenters started turning the main hall into something that looked less like a scrapyard and more like the seat of power for a religious figure.

By the time Bethany and her small group returned from the Fallow Mire, all of the old debris had been removed and there were some heavy banners hanging in between the scaffolding, embroidered with the Inquisition’s weird flaming-eyeball-and-sword sigil. The final installment of _Swords and Shields_ was a thing, if only in rough draft form; he had made two clean copies and even managed to put a binding on the one for Cassandra. The other was for his editor to review, so it could be published in case anyone else in Thedas wanted to know how the story ended. He had considered making a third copy, so Bethany could have her own, but he had run out of time. Besides, maybe sharing some tawdry fluffy literature could be a bonding thing for the two women. It seemed to have been something of the sort for Sunshine and Rivaini, after all.

“We’re back,” the Inquisitor announced, entering the keep and divesting herself of the cloak which covered her mage armor. She moved immediately to the fire. “Maker, I don’t think I’ve been properly warm in the better part of a fortnight.”

“Good to see you, Sunshine! I take it things went well down in the bogs?”

“Our people are safe. It’ll take them a little while to get back here, but no one was badly injured,” she assured him. “The Hand of Korth didn’t get to kill me, and one of the biggest humans I’ve ever seen in my life is joining us as an agent.”

“Not bad for a few days’ work.” He chuckled, watching her finger-comb her hair; she was itching for a proper bath, and he could see it in her expression. “Was the Fallow Mire as enchanting as the name suggests?”

“Let’s just say that when I saw the constant rainfall and the wandering undead, I was pretty happy I’d left you here.” Bethany smiled wryly. “I rather wished I’d been able to leave _myself_ here, but we can’t have everything. At least one of us was warm and dry.”

“And busy, thanks to you,” he assured her. “I’m ready to present Cassandra with the final installment of _Swords and Shields_ whenever you are.”

“Brilliant. Let me nip upstairs and change my clothes,” she said, “and we’ll go find her. I can’t wait to see her face! I’m sure she’s going to love this.”

“No rush. I’m sure you want to relax a little first – wash the Mire out of your hair and that sort of thing. You probably haven’t had anything but field rations to eat since you left, either.”

“Well... you’re not wrong,” she admitted.

“Tell you what. You go monopolize the bath house for a little while, maybe break out some of those fancy soaps the Iron Lady brought you from her last jaunt into Val Royeaux, and I’ll tell somebody to tell somebody to put some food on your desk for when you’re done.” He chuckled. “Then you can tell me all about your victory over this Hand of Korth guy. Sounds like I should take notes.”

“You’re the best, Varric.” Bethany’s smile was tired but grateful.

“I know.” He winked.

* * *

While Bethany was scrubbing herself with some sudsy infusion of crystal grace and royal elfroot, however, something happened which interrupted Varric’s efforts to get her a hot meal. He bundled up his editor’s copy of _Swords and Shields_ , scribbled out a letter to go with it, and was just handing the whole thing off to Josephine when she froze. “Did – did you hear something?”

He paused. There was utter silence at first, but then came a bewildering sort of _splat_ noise, as if someone had picked up a day-old roast nug and lobbed it against the far wall. “Sounds like it came from out back.”

“Strange. There’s nothing back there, really, just mountains.”

“Maybe snow falling off one of the eaves? Your guess is as good as mine, Ruffles.”

A few minutes later, however, as they were talking of something else, Cullen appeared in the doorway. “We’ve got him,” he reported.

“Got whom?” asked Josephine.

“Oh, you didn’t hear? There was...” The commander’s expression became somewhat flummoxed, like a particularly baffled mabari. “I don’t know how to say this except to simply say it. We caught an Avvar chieftain throwing goats at the side of the fortress.”

“You want to run that by us again, Curly?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it and to be perfectly honest, I hope I never do again,” Cullen replied. “He used something like a primitive trebuchet to launch a couple of rams at our outer wall. The poor things didn’t survive the impact, of course. Chief Movran gave himself up without a fight when our soldiers surrounded him; we have him down in the cells to await the Inquisitor’s judgment.”

“Sunshine’s having a bath,” Varric informed him, “and I don’t think she’ll be too happy to be interrupted for this. Let her have a little time to herself, would you? She can figure out what to do with the Avvar tomorrow.”

“We still need her to pass judgment on Alexius as well,” Josephine mused, “so we may as well convene court for both of these things at once. Do you perhaps want to explain things to Bethany after her bath, Varric?”

“And miss the look on her face when _you_ tell her what this guy’s crime was? It’s like you don’t know me at all, Ruffles.” Varric chuckled. “I’m getting a front row seat for that moment.”


	10. Well, Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the title wasn't enough of a hint... Varric's past comes to visit.

Bull had been right; not long after Bethany and the others returned from the Fallow Mire, the Chargers sent word that they were on their way back from Haven. They had lingered there for the ribbon cutting on the memorial, per Josephine’s request, and were bringing back some personal objects that had been unearthed in the rubble, as well as a few volunteers they had encountered at the ceremony – people who had reached Haven only to find that it was no more.

This missive was followed by a much more unusual one, though not entirely unfamiliar.

 _“Voices on the winds speak of a new power abroad in the world. ‘Inquisition,’ they whisper... an ancient name restored, a memory rekindled and transformed into a blaze of hope. I hear the whispers and summon the fires of the Inquisition. Here in the depths beneath the City of Chains, countless mysteries hide in shadow in anticipation of the light. Come. Black Emporium awaits.”_ Enclosed with the message was a strangely shaped medallion.

“This was delivered by a cloaked figure at twilight,” an amused Leliana reported, “precisely as the sun disappeared beneath the peaks. Some of my men spotted him lurking near the gates for an hour before sunset, apparently following some very specific instructions.”

“That does sound like Xenon,” Bethany replied, tracing her fingers over the carvings on the medallion. Her expression was a bit nostalgic.

“You’ve met him before?” asked Josephine. The three advisors, the Inquisitor, and Varric were loitering in her office, and she looked mildly shocked at the notion. “I’ve heard of the Black Emporium, but most people believe it to be merely a rumor, a legend at best.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite real. We’ve been there a few times.” The Inquisitor nodded at Varric. “The catch is that it’s magically concealed, so you can’t find it unless you’ve been specifically invited. You need to have one of these” – she indicated the medallion – “sent to you by the Antiquarian himself. My brother received one about a year after we arrived in Kirkwall.”

“Is he... what is he like?”

“Insane. Harmless, as long as you’re not trying to steal from him,” Bethany clarified, “but his mind is deteriorating. He does make some hilarious social commentary, however, so he’s not entirely gone just yet.”

“You’ll need passage across the Waking Sea,” said Cullen, looking thoughtful. “If you mean to go, that is. It’s easily enough arranged.”

Varric felt his eyes widen. “You mean... we’re going to _Kirkwall_?”

“It looks that way,” said Bethany, smiling. “We have to come back, however. Or at least, I do.”

“I know, but... even just an afternoon will be good.” The homesickness burst upon him like a physical pain.

“I’ll make the arrangements for after your rendezvous in Crestwood,” said Cullen. “It will make more sense to travel from there, as it’s near the coast. Be careful of the wares, though, I’ve heard some strange tales.”

* * *

Varric was seated near the fire, paying bills and mulling over Bethany’s words. _We have to come back. Or at least, I do._ She was going to give him the option of remaining in Kirkwall – he knew her well enough to know that. He was going to want to take that option, too – _she_ knew _him_ well enough to know that. But he wouldn’t do it. As much as it would hurt him to get back onto that ship and leave his city behind him once again, he still had promises to keep.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” said a voice.

He looked up, and did a double take. The hooded jerkin did its best to obscure her most recognizable features, but there was no mistaking the voice. Bianca Davri – genius tinkerer and sometime love of his life – was standing in the great hall of Skyhold, smirking for all the world like she’d just won the most epic game of hide and seek imaginable. He set aside his quill.

“When I sent you the letter,” he said, “I didn’t really expect you to come all this way.”

“It took me a little while to make arrangements, or I’d have been here sooner. I’ve got some intelligence about that red lyrium stuff that I think you can probably use. I figured out where they’re getting it, or at least getting some of it, and they need to be shut down fast. It’s coming from exactly where you think it is.”

“I appreciate the warning,” he said, standing and moving closer so they could keep their voices down, “but you shouldn’t have come yourself. What if the Guild found out? Or... What’s-his-name?”

“Are you worrying for me, or for yourself?” she retorted.

“A little of column A, a little of column B. I _am_ the expendable one, after all.” He shrugged.

Bianca’s reply was a warm, low chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. We’ll just have to –” He lifted a hand and she broke off; Bethany had just walked into the hall.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Bianca said, turning, as Bethany joined them. “Inquisitor Hawke, right? Bianca Davri, at your service. Varric’s told me a lot about you and your brothers over the years.” She gave Varric an oddly pointed look, which he couldn’t immediately interpret.

 _And I’ve never told her anything about you. Shit, this is going to get awkward._ He tried not to visibly wince.

Bethany looked faintly bemused, but smiled politely, nodding to the new arrival. After a pause, her gaze roved between them. “Wait, your name is Bianca? Like Varric’s crossbow?”

“It’s a common name,” Bianca lied glibly. “Half the girls in the Merchants’ Guild are named Bianca. The other half are named ‘Helga.’ I lucked out.”

Bethany’s gaze lingered on Varric a moment longer, but she shrugged off the unanswered question. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bianca.” Her mouth scrunched slightly as she studied the pair. “But why do you both look like cats that got into the cream?” She was addressing the question in Varric’s direction, lifting an eyebrow.

“She’s taken a huge risk coming here herself,” he said, wondering if he looked as guilty as he felt. “Maybe for both of us.”

Bianca scoffed. “You’re such a worrier. There’s a giant hole in the sky; I think the Merchants’ Guild has bigger things to think about.”

Unable to argue the point, Varric shrugged slightly and turned back to Bethany. “Bianca’s got a lead on where Corypheus got his red lyrium.”

“The site of Bartrand’s Folly – the thaig Varric and your brothers found – it’s been leaked,” she explained. “There’s a Deep Roads entrance crawling with strange humans carting out red lyrium by the handful.”

Bethany looked like she was trying not to visibly shudder, probably thinking about what Carver went through during that particular incident. She instead asked the important who, what, when, why, and how questions. Her eyes widened slightly when Varric admitted he had told Bianca about the location, but she said nothing. At last, she nodded. “We need to deal with this,” she concurred. “If we cut off his access to the thaig, Corypheus loses a significant source of red lyrium. He has to be stopped.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Andraste’s ass, he hated the way his voice sounded – pitched low and almost embarrassed. Maybe he was, in a way.

“I’ll keep an eye on their operation,” said Bianca. “If you’re interested in shutting it down, you’ve got my help.” Turning back to Varric, she smirked faintly. “Try not to leave me waiting too long, Varric. I’ve got my own work to do, you know.”

Once she was gone, he looked at Bethany and sighed. “Right, that’s not going to be trouble at all. I... uh... I guess you have questions.”

“You could say that.” She folded her arms over her chest, but there was no trace of annoyance in the gesture; she seemed more concerned than anything. “For a start...  _Bianca_?”

“Like my crossbow.” He nodded; it was tough to look at her just at the moment. “It’s the one story I can never really tell, but to you I’ll admit that much.”

“The one story you can never really tell? Not even to me?”

Varric hesitated. “If I were ever going to tell anyone, it would probably be you,” he acknowledged. He would hesitate to share that remembrance even with Hawke, but Sunshine was mild enough that it would be less awkward. “But I made a promise.”

“I can respect that, really I can.” She paused. “I take it you two have some... um... history?”

“That’s... one way to put it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We almost started a clan war. Bianca’s parents are surface dwarves in the smith caste and, well... technically we’re supposed to be three hundred leagues apart at all times.”

“A clan war?” she repeated. “Well, I... I won’t press you for details you can’t or don’t want to give, but... color me surprised. I guess I thought that after all this time, you and I knew all of each other’s secrets.” She gave him a slight smile.

Somehow, Bethany’s gentle acceptance cut him more deeply than her anger might have done. Varric sighed. “It all fell apart a few years before you and your brothers came to Kirkwall. For what it’s worth, Hawke doesn’t know any of this either. I don’t talk about it for a lot of reasons, most of them having to do with not getting killed by the Merchants’ Guild. But I heard the wedding was lovely... the one she showed up for, anyway.” It took some effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Let me know when you want to head to the Deep Roads entrance; it’s that one in Valammar, you already have the key.”

Bethany’s eyes had once again widened slightly and she looked like she wanted to say more on the matter. Her mouth opened as if to do so, but she quickly shut it again, contenting herself with a nod. “Right. Of course.” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder in the direction Bianca had disappeared. “Just tell me one thing, Varric... we can trust this information, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I can promise you that much, the information is good.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, that’s good enough for me then,” she said, with a wobbly sort of smile. “I have a few reports I need to give to the council, but otherwise, I suppose we can go whenever everyone’s ready.”

“Just say the word. I am at your disposal, Milady Sunshine.”

Varric resumed his seat, once she left the hall, and tried to return his mind to what he’d been doing before Bianca’s sudden appearance. It wasn’t working. He knew he’d disappointed Bethany; the one person in all of Skyhold whom she trusted without reservation was keeping big secrets from her. Of course she was disappointed. He couldn’t blame her.

Blaming himself, though... that always came easy.

* * *

They set out for Valammar the next day, the two of them and Dorian and Bull. There was a certain consolation to having Sparkler along; he hated the Hinterlands almost as much as Varric himself did, and it was refreshing to not be the only one complaining. Bethany was quieter than usual, which just added to his sense of having let her down, so the complaints were a welcome diversion.

They reached the crossroads in the early afternoon and stabled the horses; the rest of the trip would have to be done on foot, with the rocky terrain. There were Inquisition soldiers nearby, and they paused to eat in the camp before heading west to the Deep Roads entrance. “Here we go,” Varric muttered as Bethany unlocked the door to Valammar. They walked through the ancient entrance corridor to the bottom of a crumbling flight of stairs, peering up at the breaks in the ‘ceiling’ which admitted shafts of sunlight.

“Finally!” Varric spun around, relaxing only a little when he spotted Bianca. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” she admonished him.

“Nobody said you had to hang out in the creepy cave while you waited,” he retorted, smiling in spite of himself.

“Well, I did wait, so let’s make this quick. These idiots are carrying the red lyrium out in unprotected containers,” she reported. “We don’t want to stick around long enough for it to start ‘talking’ to us.” There were some brief introductions, and Varric saw Sparkler and Tiny exchange puzzled glances when they heard Bianca’s name, but they were smart enough not to ask.

“We’d best get started then,” Bethany said. “The faster we get in, the faster we can get out.”

As they walked, Bianca explained a few things to the group about lyrium – how it was mined, why it required special containers, and so forth. “At least we’ve already been in here,” Varric remarked, during one lull in the conversation. “We, ah, liberated the key to Valammar from some mercenaries who were apparently working with the Carta. This is a bit familiar.”

“So, this is what you do now?” asked Bianca.

“Beg pardon?”

“Skulking around in caves, shooting guys – is this your day-to-day?”

“I usually try to avoid the caves.”

From the head of the party, Bethany chuckled faintly. “This place is a blending of two things you hate,” she said over her shoulder. “Caves and the Deep Roads. I have to say, I agree on both points.”

“I think most of us do,” Bull commented.

Bethany, Bull, and Dorian – having longer legs than the two dwarves – easily took something of a lead, which Bianca decided gave her the space to talk privately. “So... this is the famous Bethany Hawke,” she mused quietly. “She’s pretty for a human; you never mentioned that.”

“Her brothers are also handsome devils and I’m fairly sure I never mentioned that either. Doesn’t exactly come up in my stories.”

“Not my point, but I’ll let it slide.”

Farther down they encountered some of the Carta battling darkspawn – two more things Varric disliked in one place. That made for a grand total of four at once, and he felt distinctly outnumbered. “We may be a bit too close to the surface for this to really count as the Deep Roads,” he remarked, “but have I mentioned that I _hate_ the Deep Roads?”

* * *

“You had me worried, you know,” said Bianca, as they ventured further into Valammar.

“What did I do now?”

“That letter you sent me about the red lyrium was the first I’d heard from you since the Chantry explosion!”

Varric paused, startled. Blondie’s gambit had happened so long ago, it almost didn’t feel real anymore. “Had it been that long?”

“Seriously, if you’d died in that mess, I’d have come back to Kirkwall and dug you up just to kick your ass.”

He cast a quick glance at Bethany, who was either not listening or doing an exceptional job of pretending not to listen. “What would you do if I’d been cremated?”

“Kick your ashes, of course.” Bianca smirked.

From where Bethany and the other companions walked there was a brief chuckle. It was not a pleasant sound.

They approached a door which appeared to have no handle, but Bianca was undeterred. “I built these doors,” she explained. “They probably shut this one from the other side when they heard the ruckus we were making.” She got to work fiddling with something or other – Varric couldn’t tell exactly what – and they could hear the lock falling open, followed shortly by the door itself, which sank right into the ground. “Tada.”

“You come here so often that you’ve built your own doors?” Varric honestly couldn’t tell if Bethany was amused, impressed, or suspicious. Maybe all three.

“You already know I’ve used this entrance in the past,” Bianca reminded her. “I don’t know if Varric’s told you, but the Merchants’ Guild is cutthroat. Literally. I built the doors to keep rivals from following me down here and arranging ‘accidents’.”

“No, I can believe that, from what I know of the Guild.” Bethany actually smiled. “But I suspect that you’ve been waiting to show us that trick since we got here.”

“Of course I was.” Bianca chuckled and gestured into the chamber beyond the doorway. “After you.”

* * *

“How is What’s-his-name?” Varric asked coolly. He wasn’t sure why he was bringing up Bianca’s husband, or asking after him; it wasn’t like he cared one way or the other about the guy’s health. He just needed to fill the silence, for some reason.

“Bogdan? He’s in Nevarra right now, selling my machine to wealthy landowners.” Well, that explained how Bianca had gotten away from home without notice, he thought.

“I heard some of the Guild were trying to get you named a Paragon for that contraption.”

“That’s not going to happen, even if I am ten times the smith Branka ever was. A surfacer Paragon? Never.”

As they continued making their way through Valammar, Bianca seemed to grow oddly nostalgic. “Kind of like old times,” she said, and started reminiscing about how she and Varric once crashed a Guild dinner hosted by his brother Bartrand. Varric rolled his eyes, feeling more amused by the recollection than he knew he should. When she proposed that he stop by and see her new workshop before her husband returned from Nevarra, however, he balked.

“I’ll see what I can do. You know your family will kill me if I stop by, right?” It was true, but it was also an excuse. ‘Dropping by’ to see the new workshop was an invitation to trouble. He knew it, and he was pretty sure she knew it. Of course, that was never the deterrent to Bianca that it ought to be, and he knew that too. Granted, he wasn’t much better sometimes; but the older Varric got, the less enticing trouble seemed to be.

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“You always say that, but they always send assassins.”

Bethany turned abruptly, as if to study Varric’s expression, but said nothing and turned away from him again as they continued deeper. He stifled a sigh. Except for the earlier comment about hating caves and the Deep Roads, she really hadn’t spoken to him much at all since they’d left Skyhold; he could see her talking to Dorian, now and then, but in such quiet tones that the substance of her words was drowned out by the ambient sounds of Valammar. Sunshine wasn’t angry – he knew her too well to think that – but she was definitely not happy either. He wasn’t even sure why, although he had his theories. He didn’t like any of them, not least because most of them suggested that it was his fault.

The party reached what seemed to be a dead end in Valammar. Varric honestly hadn’t been certain what he’d expected, but this definitely wasn’t it. They were confronted by nothing more remarkable than a long workbench dotted with books and assorted odds and ends.

“There you are,” said Bianca, seizing a key he hadn’t noticed and once again fiddling with some stuff that Varric couldn’t see. It seemed there was a hidden door built into the wall, one that could only be found if you knew where to look. They again heard the sound of a lock, this time falling into place, and she gave a satisfied little nod. “They won’t be able to use this entrance again.”

And he _knew_. He’d suspected, of course, the instant she had first arrived at Skyhold, but now he knew. “Bianca...”

“Tell us what you’re thinking, Varric,” said Bethany. Hearing the coolness in her voice, he was pretty sure she knew it too.

“Andraste’s ass, Bianca – _you’re_ the leak!?”

Her guilty face told him everything, even as she began explaining. She’d been trying to make sense out of the red lyrium, figure out what it was and why it was and where it originated. Red lyrium, apparently, was _Blighted_ , which meant that it was alive in some fashion, and that was just about a hundred times worse than Varric expected. “I couldn’t get any further on my own,” she said, “so I looked for a Grey Warden mage. Blight and magical expertise in one, right? And I found this guy, Larius. He seemed really interested in helping my research, so I gave him a key.”

“Larius?” Varric exchanged a glance with Bethany. “He was the Grey Warden we met in Corypheus’s... oh, shit. I knew something seemed off!”

“But he wasn’t a mage,” said Bethany, her face growing paler than usual. “He was a warrior!” They looked at each other again, and Varric guessed that his expression was probably a lot like hers – sick with comprehension. _So that’s how Corypheus escaped from the Warden prison. And then Bianca handed a key to the thaig to Corypheus himself_. He knew there was no way she could have known, of course, but still...

“I didn’t realize until you said you found red lyrium at Haven,” Bianca added. “I came here, and... well...”

“You had to know we’d figure out what happened, Bianca,” said Bethany. Sunshine was dimmed, but not doused. “Why did you insist on coming with us?”

“Varric told me what people were doing with the red lyrium. I... had to help make this right.”

Bethany’s eyes narrowed in a way that reminded Varric strongly of her twin brother. “In other words, you told Varric you had a lead so we’d straighten out _your_ mistake.”

“I know I screwed up, but we did fix it!” Bianca protested. “It’s as right as I can make it!”

“This isn’t one of your machines! You can’t just replace a part and make everything right!” Varric snapped.

“No, but I can try, can’t I?” she fired back. “Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself, telling stories of what I should have done?”

“Ha! As if I would tell stories about my own mistakes!”

“Enough,” said Bethany, and her voice was cold. He felt her hand on his shoulder, briefly; it was clear she was clenching her jaw. “There’s no point in arguing. What’s done is done.”

Varric sighed. “We’ve done all we can here. Bianca, you’d better get home before someone misses you.”

“Varric...”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” Turning, he started to walk away with Sparkler and Tiny, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel the eyes of the entire group on him; it was a deeply uncomfortable sensation.

And then he heard it. The words weren’t meant for his ears, he knew, but he caught them all the same. “Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs, _Inquisitor_.”

Instinctively he spun around, ready to let Bianca have it; no one, not even she, was allowed to speak to Sunshine like that. But Bethany didn’t need his defense, it seemed. She gazed at Bianca with an expression of careful calm. “If you think for one instant that I would ever ‘get him killed,’ Bianca, then Varric hasn’t told you as much about me as you think he has,” she said. “I was Bethany Hawke long before I was ever the Inquisitor, and the only way Hawkes let our friends get hurt is if we get killed first. We _protect_ those dearest to us.”

He watched, dimly fascinated, as the two most important women in his life stared one another down. Then Bethany stalked away from Bianca, gesturing for the three men to precede her out of Valammar, and Varric had to force himself not to glance backward as they left the empty halls. No one spoke again the whole way back to the crossroads.

* * *

It was a tense, silent ride back to Skyhold, too, and Varric was grateful to hand off his mount to a groom and trudge into the keep alone. Tiny went back to the tavern, Sparkler to the library, and Bethany... well, he wasn’t quite sure where Sunshine went. Maybe to report to the council, or Cassandra; maybe she lingered in the stable to talk to Dennet or Blackwall. That notion annoyed him somehow, but he ignored it and returned to his fireside, leaning on a chair and trying – and failing – not to think.

She arrived several minutes later, her gaze dark and her hands clenched into fists. She opened and closed them, as if flexing her fingers, regarding the hall with a sigh before pointing her steps in his direction. She said nothing as she reached his little corner, merely leaned on the chair next to his and watched him in silence for a moment.

“I knew it,” he said, not turning around. “The second she showed up here, I knew... shit! I _gave_ her the thaig. I caused all of this, and I am not good at dealing with shit like this.”

“You did not cause this,” she said emphatically. “You had no way of knowing.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, but I still did it.” He sighed. “You know, Sunshine, one of the better things about you being the Inquisitor is that I don’t have to explain my history with that thaig. You know it as well as I do.” He glanced at her for the first time, and felt a fresh stab of guilt. “I’m sorry for the way she spoke to you back there. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s all right. She’s not the first person to speak to me like that, and I’d bet coin she won’t be the last.” Bethany attempted a smile, but it failed and she dropped it with a sigh of her own, raking a hand through her hair. “I probably shouldn’t have fired back the way I did, but... if I’m honest, _I_ hated the way she spoke to _you_. That comment about ‘writing stories about what you should have done...’” She shook her head.

“Not as though she’s wrong.” Varric shrugged. “It’s a lot easier to write the stories of what should have been than it is to live with the memories of what actually was.”

“Well, yes, of course it is. We’ve all lived through terrible things.” Her gaze was faraway with memories for a moment before she gave herself a shake. “But you’re here, working as hard as anyone to stop Corypheus. Maybe harder than most. And you’re here for me when I need you – that’s certainly not nothing.”

“Am I? Working as hard as anyone, I mean,” he clarified. “I’m always here when you need me, Sunshine. But the other part, I don’t know. If Cassandra hadn’t dragged me here, I’d probably be sitting in the Hanged Man pretending none of this was happening.” That was a lie, of course; the second he got wind that Bethany was the Herald, he’d have been on a ship. He’d have done it reluctantly, true, but the idea that she needed his support would have quickly outweighed his dislike of sea travel. Nevertheless, his point still held, he thought.

“No, you and I both know that’s not true.” She managed a genuine smile this time. “You would have come to help no matter what – even if I wasn’t here. Even if someone else had this.” She held up the hand that boasted the Anchor. “That’s just who you are.”

“And you wonder why I call you Sunshine.” He shook his head. “If it helps any, I’m pretty sure she’s the only secret I was hiding from you. Not that you know everything, but still.”

She chuckled slightly, then fell silent for a few seconds. Finally, she asked, “After all of that, do you think you’ll see Bianca again?”

“I always do.”

He turned, however, to look at the fire. Was it going to come down to a matter of where his loyalties lay strongest? He had loved Bianca, with all the fierce reckless passion of youth; some part of him still did, and maybe always would. If it were anyone else on the other side of the equation, there would be no question.

But it wasn’t anyone else; it was Bethany. And Bethany was a Hawke. The Hawkes – all of them, in their own distinct ways – had effectively made him one of them. Hawke was his best and most loyal friend. Carver was like the little brother he had never wanted. Bethany was his Sunshine, pure and simple. Even Leandra had never failed to welcome him with a smile, regarding him almost like some kind of long-lost nephew. When, he forced himself to consider, had there ever been anyone who had treated him more like family?

“I always do,” he said again, turning back to Bethany, “but... the next time will probably be the last.”


	11. These People Are Terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke siblings reunion, part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weather lately has been terrible. I'm a cyborg. These are two things that don't go well together. But at least it doesn't require much time or energy to give you a new chapter to enjoy - thank you again for all the wonderful comments!

Chief Movran the Under was on his way, along with his heavily armed clan, to the outskirts of Tevinter. Magister Alexius was researching magic for the Inquisition under the watchful eye of the Nightingale. The Chargers returned from Haven, and a day later, the Inquisition was headed for Crestwood, where – according to the forward scouts – their assistance was desperately needed.

Varric was eager to get there. He wasn’t particularly enthused about fighting the undead, but it _had_ to be more fun than the questions he was getting from certain companions.

“So... your girlfriend is a smith,” said Bull, casually.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“She makes weapons? With her own hands?”

“Among other things.” Varric honestly didn’t know where this was going but he didn’t want to be along for the ride.

Bull, however, seemed satisfied. “That’s hot.”

That was bad enough, but then _Cassandra_ had to get involved. “Am I to understand that your Bianca is married?”

“Oh, have we reached the stage where we gossip about each other’s love lives?” Snark was good. Snark kept pain from showing.

“Forget I asked,” she grumbled. “It was a simple question, Varric.”

“There was nothing simple about it.” He paused. “But since you brought her up, does that mean I can ask about _your_ conquests?”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“No tantalizing secrets to divulge?”

“No.” It was her turn to pause. “Oh, very well, if you wish to know about men I have known, I will tell you.”

That threw him very far off balance. Denial he expected; concession, he had not. He didn’t even want it. “Look, Seeker, I was only -”

“No, you are right. I pried first, and fair is fair.” Her posture in the saddle was more ramrod straight than usual. “Years ago, I knew a young mage named Regalyan. He was dashing, unlike any man I had ever met.” She took a tiny breath before adding, “He died at the Conclave.”

“Oh.” Varric honestly didn’t know what else to say. He could tell Bethany was listening, knew that her gentle heart probably ached for Cassandra now, but she kept silent.

“What we had was fleeting,” the Seeker continued. Her tone was forcibly neutral. “And years had passed. Still, it saddens me to think he's gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

No one spoke for a long time after that.

* * *

The scouts weren’t exaggerating. A little warning about the excessive rain would have been nice, but the bigger issue was the undead wandering out of the lake, where a giant rift seemed to have taken up residence somewhere near its bottom. The residents of the village of Crestwood were frankly terrified, and several of them had been killed. From what little Varric was able to glean from overheard conversations between the scouts, the rain wasn’t normal either, so maybe fixing one problem would fix all the problems. They could hope.

Bethany seemed a bit... he was hard-pressed to put a word to it. _Annoyed_ wasn’t quite right, but it was close. It was like she was frustrated that there was yet another obstacle keeping her from seeing for herself that Carver was alive and well; he supposed he could understand that. When they came across a couple of Grey Wardens who were not Carver, it only served to trouble her more.

“Did you hear them?” she asked in a low voice, once the pair had moved on. “They were searching for someone. I think they were looking for Carver.”

Varric considered that. “Hawke did say that he and Rivaini had to smuggle him out of Lydes, more or less,” he remembered. “You could be right. But why would the other Wardens turn on him?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

They fought their way to the borders of the village, offering what encouragement they could to the people there, and made their way up to speak with Mayor Dedrick about the situation. He seemed sort of bewildered to be receiving any assistance at all, much less from the Inquisition, which Varric thought was a little odd. “Are you here to stop the undead?” he asked, almost warily.

“We will, right, Sunshine?” Varric asked. “I mean, these people are terrified.”

“Of course we will, Varric.” She looked at the mayor. “The undead are appearing because of a rift in the Fade, underneath your lake. If I can get to that and seal it, your people should be safe.”

“The light in the lake?” he asked. “It’s coming from the caves beneath old Crestwood.”

“ _Old_ Crestwood?” asked Cassandra.

“The village has only been in its present location for the past ten years.” The mayor explained that the dam could only be reached through the nearby small fortress of Caer Bronach, which had been overtaken by a group of highwaymen, and he didn’t seem too persuaded that they had much of a chance of getting to them. Not only that, but he also added that the controls were broken; old Crestwood had flooded during the Blight when darkspawn had smashed the dam controls. That seemed odd to Varric, but darkspawn _did_ like to destroy things (and people) so maybe it was just his natural skepticism popping up to say hello.

Bethany, in true Hawke fashion, tightened her jaw and marched out of the mayor’s hut and back down to the road. “First things first,” she said over her shoulder, raising her voice to be head over the steady downpour, “we take back the keep. These people have enough problems without those bandits preying on travelers and keeping merchants away.”

“Pummeling bad guys is one of my favorite things,” grunted the Iron Bull.

“Don’t worry, Tiny, I have a feeling there’s gonna be plenty to go around,” Varric replied. There were, too, as they soon discovered. Bethany, with an almost unsettling calmness, cast one of her Force spells – Varric didn’t know enough about magic to have any idea which one, but it completely shattered the keep’s heavy wooden door. Bandits seemed to come pouring out of every corner of the keep’s interior, sliding down ladders and leaping off of battlements and raining arrows down on the party from overhead. It reminded him of some of the fight scenes he’d written in _Tale of the Champion_ , to be honest, except this time he wasn’t exaggerating the number of enemies for a better story.

They essentially carved a path through the waves of bandits to the chief of the highwaymen, who was in a room at the topmost part of the fortress. He made a valiant attempt (or whatever the bad guy equivalent of _valiant_ was) to use a giant maul to smear a few of them onto the fort’s stone floor, but it was all over in a matter of minutes and the Inquisition members were decidedly un-smeared.

“It’s a shame we got here so late,” Bethany said with a sigh, looking around at the sturdy walls. “Like the mayor said, if the bandits hadn’t taken over the fort, the people could have hidden in here from the undead.”

“This place would be an asset to our agents if you claimed it,” Cassandra remarked. “It lies on the main road connecting Denerim to Val Royeaux. It would be ideal both for Leliana’s people and also for our forces to protect the village.”

“Can I do that?” she asked, sounding uncertain.

“I don’t think anybody in Crestwood is likely to argue with the presence of those who are actually equipped to deal with this undead menace,” Dorian replied. “There’s a flagpole here – all we need is a banner in Inquisition colors to run up the pole. That should get Scout Harding’s attention, yes?”

* * *

This was accomplished, and as Sparkler had correctly predicted, Harding and the other scouts came within the hour to take charge of the building. “I’ll contact Sister Nightingale,” she promised. “We’ll need to requisition some more supplies, set up a few tents, and I imagine you might want one of your stonemasons come to check over the place. But it should serve the purpose nicely once everything’s put together. If we can get a merchant or two to come and set up shop in here, it’ll help the village get back on its feet too.”

“Well, boss, what now?” asked Bull.

“We should drain the lake,” said Bethany. “The mayor said the controls were through the fort – there must be a door which leads out back.”

After some discussion, it was decided that Solas, Blackwall, Sera, Cole, and Vivienne would remain at Caer Bronach, to help Harding get things settled and watch for additional bandit or undead activity in the vicinity of the village. The others accompanied Bethany through the door identified as leading to the dam controls. Several minutes later, they were back out in the gloom and the pouring rain, where an old stone bridge flanked by howling mabari statues led out to a grungy watering hole; a creaking sign identified the building as the Rusty Horn. Opening the door, they found themselves interrupting a pair of hormone-addled teenagers who were taking advantage of the building being abandoned. Varric couldn’t fathom how such a place could be regarded as romantic, but he supposed the lack of shambling corpses made it a better choice than most secluded spots at the moment.

They more or less ignored the kids and made their way to a back room, where the Iron Bull put his muscles to use turning the wheel which controlled the dam. They could hear the rumble like thunder as Crestwood’s lake water began making its headlong dash to the Waking Sea. (At least, that was where Varric assumed the water was going. He wasn’t exactly sure and it was probably a bit late to be asking.) But something about the whole thing felt strange.

“Wait a minute,” said Bethany, frowning. “Didn’t the mayor tell us that darkspawn destroyed these controls ten years ago? Who repaired them?”

Oh. _That’s_ what felt strange. Varric could practically hear his bullshit meter rising. “Good point,” he grumbled. “Let’s ask the mayor.”

“Later. First things first, we deal with the rift – the sooner we close that, the sooner the undead stop attacking the town.” She toyed with the edge of her sleeve. “The sooner Crestwood is safe, the sooner we can find my brothers.”

* * *

It took almost three days. It might have taken less, but the group had to occasionally do things like eating and sleeping, and it really cut into the adventuring time. They also kept coming across the unexpected, though they should probably have long since gotten used to that.

First, they picked their way through the ruins of old Crestwood, sealing a rift and taking down the stray undead. There was a Chantry sister in the rebuilt village who wanted to perform proper funeral rites for the dead whose bodies had languished in the flooded buildings for so many years, so Bethany – being Bethany – had promised they would see what they could do. Surprisingly, the rotted buildings contained a number of bodies which _hadn’t_ gotten up and walked into the village, and they used some stray branches and torn strips of fabric to mark the locations. Sister Vaughn could send someone to collect them later.

Then there was the spirit. Unlike most of what had come through the rifts, this one was fairly benign, and identified itself – herself? It had a sort of female voice – as Command. “I _order_ you,” it demanded of Bethany, “to tell me why nothing here obeys my commands!”

“It’s a spirit of some –” Cassandra began.

“Silence! Let the other one talk.” Varric found that much more amusing than he rightfully should have, he knew, but there was something humorously satisfying about the Seeker being told to back down in favor of Bethany. _Guess I’m still holding a bit of a grudge._

They went back and forth a bit, mage and spirit, discussing Command’s role in the world and whether or not she and Bethany were similar. Sunshine acknowledged that there was some little likeness between them, though Varric wasn’t sure if she honestly believed that or if she was just humoring the spirit. It was satisfied, anyway, advising the Inquisitor to “cleave to your loyal servants.” He had to wonder if that’s what Command thought they all were.

“Why haven’t you gone back to the Fade?” Bethany asked.

“I refuse to be denied. I will not return until _something_ obeys my commands.”

“Then I think I have to help you.” For the first time in a few days, there was a little of the old giggle in Bethany’s voice again. “I pledge myself to your service.”

“Excellent!” Command had only one request – a rage demon had chased it across the lake, and was now hiding in the nearby caverns. It wanted the demon destroyed.

“Killing a demon is worthy of us, at least,” Cassandra noted approvingly.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure where this was going,” said Bull. “I thought maybe the thing was going to go after stuff in our heads.”

“Yours holds nothing of interest,” Command informed him flatly.

“Works for me.”

“We’re going into those caves anyway,” Bethany pointed out as they left the ruined cabin where Command hovered. “We’ll probably come across the rage demon while we’re looking for the rift.”

As they trudged up the hill, however, Dorian caught sight of one house that looked almost completely intact. “Look at the sign,” he said, pointing. “This was the mayor’s old home. Do you suppose there’s anything left in there? Perhaps we can recover something for him.”

“That’s a thoughtful idea, Dorian,” Bethany agreed. “Let’s take a quick look inside.”

To their surprise, however, the house was all but picked clean. “Are you sure this is the mayor’s house?” Varric could almost smell something rotten. “There’s nothing here. The other houses have ruined furniture and stuff, but this is _empty_.”

“Not completely empty,” Bethany noted. “There’s a chest here. It’s not even locked.” She lifted the lid. “Nothing here but some paper.”

“Anything I could crib for my next book, Sunshine?” He was trying to sound jovial, but there was something really off about the whole thing and it was making him uneasy.

“It’s a letter to the mayor, from someone named Robert.” She squinted at the waterlogged words. “It’s hard to read but... Robert did something the mayor wanted done and has left Crestwood out of shame. That’s all I can make out.” She frowned. “Does anyone else get the feeling that this might be related to those miraculously unbroken dam controls?”

* * *

At last they emerged from the caves under old Crestwood – rift sealed, rage demon destroyed, and _another_ ancient dwarven outpost discovered. Between Valammar and now this, Varric’s letters to Orzammar would probably turn the Shaperate upside down. To their delight and relief, they left the caves to discover that sealing the rift had stopped the unseasonable weather, and the rain clouds had parted.

“You brought sunshine to Crestwood, Sunshine,” Varric noted fondly.

“Hopefully that makes up for the confrontation we’re about to have with the mayor. I don’t think he’s going to be too happy about what we found.” She smiled, however.

After stopping in old Crestwood to deliver the news of its enemy’s defeat to Command, and stopping by the village chantry to tell Sister Vaughn how to find the remains in the no-longer-flooded area, they steeled themselves for a visit to the mayor. He was already gone, which didn’t really surprise Varric when he thought about it; he’d probably packed up his things as soon as they’d left his hut, and according to an eyewitness, he’d been seen riding out of the village at top speed almost as soon as the rain had stopped.

“He left a letter,” Bethany said softly, picking up the paper from the desk. “A confession. So it’s true, then, what we suspected about the dam controls. He’s the one who flooded old Crestwood.”

“Maker’s breath, _why_?” asked Cassandra, looking horrified.

“From what he says here, there were refugees who came to Crestwood during the Blight, and some had the taint. They housed all the sick people in the caves, but it was starting to spread to the villagers too. He… he was desperate to save the ones who weren’t sick, so he… flooded the cave.” She bit her lip.

“The Inquisition could probably find him and bring him in for sentencing,” said Dorian, watching her carefully. “ _If_ the Inquisitor wished it, that is.”

Bethany shook her head. “My father died of the Blight sickness. I can imagine what the situation here must have been,” she said.

“He killed people,” Bull grunted.

“So have I. So have we all. The Blight probably didn’t give him much more of an option than the bandits in Caer Bronach gave us.” She crumpled the letter and threw it into the fireplace. “Let him live with the memories of what he’s done. I can’t give him a worse punishment than that. Come on – the people are safe, now, and my brothers are waiting.”

* * *

Inquisition scouts had set up a second camp in an area called Three-Trout Farm. Varric was at a loss as to how anyone had come up with _that_ name, but it was a good location, because it enabled them to find a number of things. The Red Templar encampment was bad. The body of a betrayed and murdered Inquisition agent was worse. But with these things and a nearby rift handled, they finally made their way to the cave Hawke had marked on the map, where Carver had been hiding for at least a month.

“You made good time,” said the bearded rogue, who was near the mouth of the cave when they found it. “I only just got here myself. The undead situation has been resolved?”

“We would have been here sooner if not for that, but yes, Crestwood is safe,” Bethany replied, embracing him.

“Good work. Come on, I think Carver’s probably paced a hole in the floor of the cave by this time. He must be bored out of his mind.”

The cave had wooden walls painted with symbols to imply the presence of a bandit enclave, presumably to keep anyone from looking too closely at the occupant. Bethany ignored these and opened the door, only to find herself looking down the blade of a sword. This was quickly sheathed, however, and the bright blue eyes of Carver Hawke took on a glow of relief. “Sister!”

“Maker’s breath, Carver,” she laughed, moving to hug him, “I never thought I’d miss you this much. Are you all right?”

“As all right as I can be, under the circumstances,” he replied, releasing her and studying her closely. “Garrett tells me it’s Inquisitor now – I think the better question is, are _you_ all right?”

“Essentially the same as what you yourself described. I’m as all right as I can be, under the circumstances.” She shrugged lightly.

“You’re looking a bit damp, there, Junior,” Varric added, moving forward to shake hands. “Been in this cave too long, or were you out running around in all that demon rain?”

Carver chuckled, grasping the dwarf’s glove in his own. “A little of both. I see you’re still to be found wherever my family’s getting into trouble.”

“Every good story needs a narrator to make it a legend, you know that. Might as well be someone charming.”

Bethany made the rest of the introductions then, listing the Inquisition members one by one. “For those of you who didn’t see him during his brief visit to Skyhold,” she concluded, “this is my older brother Garrett Hawke – or just Hawke as he’ll tell you he’d rather be called – and my twin brother Carver.” She paused. “Where’s Dane?”

“I told him to stay on the ship with Isabela,” Hawke replied. “I’m sure he would have loved to see you both, but he’s safer there.”

“Dane?” Dorian repeated.

“My brother’s mabari,” Bethany explained. “I miss him – make sure you take him some treats from me or something when you return to the ship, all right?” Seeing Hawke chuckle and nod, she turned to Carver and gave him a serious look. “We encountered some Wardens a few days ago… I think they were looking for you.”

“They were.” He sighed. “Good people, I’ve no doubt, good people who were given bad orders.”

“What happened? Garrett said they had to smuggle you out of Orlais.”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.” Carver gestured for his sister to take the only chair in the sparsely furnished cave. “Can I assume that your friends here all know about our family history with Corypheus at this point?”

“Pretty much. They know that the four of us unlocked his prison and killed him. Or so we thought,” she added ruefully. “Varric and I recently learned otherwise. Remember that Warden who helped us, Larius?” When her brothers nodded, she gave a little shake of her head. “We think Corypheus somehow possessed him and that’s how he escaped. It’s a long story and we’re still putting the pieces together.” Bethany glanced at Varric, and he forced himself to hold her gaze.

Of all the... she was _protecting_ him. She could have told them about Bianca, and she didn’t. She probably never would. He shook his head just slightly, feeling both grateful and ashamed.

“All right – well, after we got out of the prison in the Vimmarks, and I made my formal report to my superiors, they sent an explanation to Weisshaupt and the First Warden decided to let the matter rest,” said Carver. “They shut down the prison and left it all at that. But an Archdemon can survive attacks that would kill a normal being, and if your theory about Corypheus is right, then that confirms _my_ theory that he’s got the same sort of power.”

“Maker’s breath,” Dorian ventured. The other Inquisition members sort of clustered near the door, watching Varric and the three Hawkes like they were characters in a stage play. “If that’s true, he’s nigh indestructible.”

“Well, not necessarily,” said Hawke. “The five Blights were all ended by killing the Archdemons, and if those can be killed, then so can Corypheus. We just don’t know how, yet.”

“I did some research, some investigating,” said Carver. “I found a few clues but nothing conclusive, and I’m not of high enough rank to be able to access the really old records that might have told me more about him. And then a few months ago, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.”

Bethany’s eyes widened. “All of them? Including you?”

“Including me.” He nodded. “It’s weird. There are moments when I can almost understand it. It’s like that feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue – you know that you know it, but at the same time, you don’t.”

“What is the Calling, exactly?” Cassandra wanted to know.

“It’s the end,” Carver replied. “It’s hard to explain, but Wardens are tied to the Blight, not the same way darkspawn are but similar. If we don’t get killed on the battlefield, sooner or later we start succumbing to the Blight, turning into ghouls. First there are dreams, and then whispers in our minds... it’s impossible to describe it, but a Warden knows it when it starts happening. Usually, a Grey Warden who hears the Calling makes his final arrangements, has a farewell party with his fellows, and goes to the Deep Roads in order to kill as many darkspawn as possible before he gets killed. That’s what happened to Larius, the Warden that Bethany mentioned. His problem was that he _didn’t_ get killed, and his Blight corruption continued for so long that the darkspawn stopped attacking him because they thought he was one of them.”

“Well, that’s... creepy,” said Bull.

“That’s the men,” Carver added. “Female Grey Wardens are given the option of ritual suicide instead, because if they go into the Deep Roads, there’s a risk of them being captured by darkspawn and turned into something called broodmothers. Trust me when I say that you do not want details.”

“Carver, why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” Hawke demanded.

“What could you have done?” Carver shrugged. “Besides, it was a Grey Warden thing. You know how we are, oaths of secrecy and all of that.”

“But the way you describe this Calling, it sounds like an individual thing,” said Cassandra. “Yet all the Orlesian Wardens are hearing it at the same time?”

“Yes. Possibly the ones in Ferelden too, but I don’t know for sure. That’s what makes me think that it’s really Corypheus behind this.”

“So he’s not controlling them.” Hawke growled. “He’s _bluffing_ them with this Calling, and they’re falling for it.”

“Can Corypheus really do that?” Bethany wondered. “I mean, is this Calling real, or is it something he’s faking?”

“There’s no way to know.” Carver shook his head. “And in a way it doesn’t matter. Whether it’s real or not, they _think_ it’s real, and they’re terrified. The next Blight will destroy the world if there are no Wardens left – maybe that’s part of his plan, I don’t know.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” said Varric. “What are they doing, and why are they hunting you?”

“Clarel – that’s the Orlesian Warden-Commander – she’s got this plan that involves a blood magic ritual.” Carver looked grimmer than Varric had ever seen him, and that was saying something. “It would prevent future Blights from ever happening, she said. When my superiors told us about it, I pointed out that this didn’t seem like a good idea, and they basically turned on me. It was all I could do to get out of Lydes.”

“Blood magic. Why is it always blood magic?” Bethany muttered. Varric was pretty sure she was thinking of Orsino. “Do you know anything about what they’re doing to put this ritual together?”

“A little.” Her twin nodded. “Out in the Western Approach, there’s an old Warden stronghold called Griffon Wing Keep, and there’s an even older ritual tower nearby – something the ancient Tevinters built. From what I was able to learn before I fled, Clarel has Wardens heading out there. It’s a starting point, at least.”

“I’ll have our agents head west and try to gather some intelligence for us, then.” She stood. “What of you two?”

“We’ll make our way there and wait for you,” said Carver, stooping to hug her once more. “It’s a long trip and I imagine you’ll be able to travel faster than we will, so Garrett and I will get ourselves a head start.”

“All right.” She looked reluctant, but nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”


	12. Somebody's Certainly a Tool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric hates the Western Approach. No surprises there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever read my *other* Inquisition retread, "All This Sh*t is Twice as Weird," you might recognize a couple characters who get introduced in this chapter. They won't be having anywhere near as big a role in this story as they do in that one, but yeah, it's them. I included them mostly as a joke.
> 
> Weather's getting worse so this might be the last update for a couple of days. We'll see how it goes, but your reviews cheer me up when the pain is bad so thank you for that!

Before they left Crestwood, Bethany made good on her promise to take Varric to the Black Emporium, and Xenon was at least as mad as ever. He’d acquired a pet giant bear, shrunk down to the size of a nug and dubbed “Chauncey,” which ran around the shop while they browsed. Kirkwall lay just beyond the door, and Varric was able to indulge in the luxury of half an hour in the Hanged Man. Even if all he did was pick up a few of his books and make good on rent payments through the end of the year, it was something. It took all of his willpower to get back on the boat; she even offered him the option of staying, just as he’d known she would. But he couldn’t do it. As long as the Inquisition needed Sunshine, Sunshine needed him.

From there, they returned to Skyhold, where they awaited news. The Inquisition scouts were on the move, and as soon as they received confirmation that the forward camp had been established in the Western Approach, the Inquisitor and her closest allies would follow.

Bethany, Varric thought, was a little out of spirits. This wasn’t exactly surprising; ever since the day she was proclaimed Inquisitor, there’d been a faint shadow of distress in her eyes. It seemed to grow more pronounced as time passed. Seeing her brothers had been good for her, but she was worried, and Varric didn’t blame her. None of the eldest Hawke’s news had been exactly heartening; Carver’s had been even less so. Not only that, but something had gone utterly wrong on the Storm Coast which required their immediate attention, and although they’d come out of it with a warrior guild called the Blades of Hessarian pledging themselves to Bethany, it had come at the cost of several murdered Inquisition scouts. That definitely wasn’t helping her mood.

(The business in Valammar probably hadn’t helped anything either, and that was Varric’s fault. She wouldn’t say so, of course, but he would.)

Varric was determined, therefore, to find something if not to cheer her, then at least to distract her. And as luck would have it, something had arrived at Skyhold which he thought might just do the trick.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said, finding her engrossed in a book – or pretending to be, anyway, he wasn’t quite sure. “Wanted to talk to you about something, you have a minute?”

“For you, I think I could even spare two minutes,” she replied, putting her thumb in the book to mark her page and looking up. “What’s on your mind?”

“You meet that group of survivors the Chargers brought back a couple of weeks ago?” he inquired, sitting down. “The ones who basically showed up to Haven fifteen minutes late with coffee?”

She chuckled at the description. “The ones from the Free Marches? Naturally. Why, is something the matter?”

“Nah, nothing like that. Just wondered if you’d noticed anything unusual.”

“No, I can’t say I have.” She regarded him for a moment, a look of amusement slowly kindling in her eyes, then set the book on the table next to her and leaned forward. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not saying?” she asked, lips quirking slightly.

“Submitted for the approval of the Inquisitor,” he replied, smirking, “my theory that two of her most loyal compatriots have grown… distracted.”

“Distracted?” she repeated. “Which two?”

“Well, one is our revered commander of the military. His gaze has been wandering and he’s more easily flustered than usual.”

“I can’t say I’ve noticed,” she mused, “but you always were the observant one. So where has his gaze been wandering, exactly?”

“It took me a little while to figure that part out, to be honest, because I was starting to think he was developing a thing for _you_ ,” Varric admitted. “I had to do a bit of sleuthing – and skulking. You know how much I love skulking.”

“That I do.” She giggled, clearly tickled both by his statement and by his idea that Cullen might have been her admirer. “So what fruits have your skulking yielded?”

“Might be easier to show you. Can I lure you out of the library for a stroll to the practice yard?”

“I think you can, at that.” She smiled. “You’ve got me curious now.”

They made their way down through the castle and out to where Cullen was overseeing training drills. “That redhead wields a two-handed sword,” Varric reported, pointing discreetly. “Apparently Curly’s been dropping by the practice yard more frequently since she got here. Of course, if you ask him, he says that he’s just settled in better now and doesn’t need to be in his office constantly, which is also how he excuses his afternoon chess games with you or Sparkler or Nightingale. Or, so I hear, her.”

Bethany watched this for a moment in contemplative silence. Ostensibly, Cullen was watching his soldiers train, overseeing their progress as he had often done in Haven. However, the careful observer could see that his gaze drifted, more often than was warranted, to the woman Varric had indicated. “Is that so?” she mused, almost conspiratorially. “Well, now. That’s very interesting.”

“But that’s only half the matter.” Varric was still smirking, and it deepened. “Observe the presence of one Seeker, doing her best to pretend she doesn’t notice the elf watching her train.”

Bethany followed his line of sight. Sure enough, Cassandra was attacking her pair of training dummies, as she often was – and sure enough, the handsome, dark-haired elf who had arrived from Haven was close at hand, watching her with great interest. Cassandra’s cheeks were visibly flushed, and not just with the exertion of her training. “Well, now. I didn’t expect that.”

“I know. Hardly seems real.” Varric chuckled. “Anyway, I was thinking that maybe you could talk to her. You know, woman to woman. Find out the details. I have to get it just right for the book, after all.”

She rolled her eyes playfully at his last comment, but then she adopted a look of serious contemplation. “That’s actually a good idea,” she said. “If I know Cassandra, she may just need a friendly nudge to get things going.”

“Hey, here’s an idea.” The wheels in Varric’s head were turning now. “You could confide in her about Curly’s distraction, see if it gets her to open up. And next time you play chess with him, you could tell _him_ about _hers_. Sort of play both sides against the middle to get them to help each other.”

Her mouth dropped open at that, her expression one of pure delight. “Varric, that’s brilliant and diabolical.” She giggled. “As a proper plot should be, of course. I’ll do it.”

“There’s my Sunshine. I knew you’d grasp the importance of such an undertaking. We can’t very well leave them to their own devices, now, can we?”

“Certainly not if we want them to confess their feelings before the end of the Dragon Age,” she agreed, giggling. “I’ll see what sort of magic I can work for them.”

“That’s the spirit.” Varric chuckled. “There’s nothing funnier or more frustrating to watch than people who can’t figure out that they’re head over heels. It’s still early, so that might be an overstatement, but you know what I mean.”

“That I do.” After a moment’s pause, she stretched slightly, cracking her knuckles. “Well, then... as the Commander might say... to work?”

“As our esteemed spymaster might reply, let’s see what we have.” _Mission accomplished_ , he thought, pleased, as he noted the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

* * *

It was a victory that he needed to sustain him in the weeks ahead. The Western Approach was effectively the opposite of Crestwood; while Crestwood had been humid, verdant, and on the small side, the Approach was arid, enormous, and very brown. The Inquisition’s forward camp was nestled between a few trees on the banks of a small oasis, where at least they had shade for the latter half of the day when the sun went behind the massive rock formations.

Getting to the ritual tower to meet with the Hawke boys was a much more difficult task than they anticipated. For one thing, water was in such short supply that a few of their number – most particularly Sera, being the youngest and smallest – kept getting sick from the heat. They had to establish more camps just to enable the storing of provisions for their own use. Factor in the hostile varghests and phoenixes traipsing through the area, the overall sheer size of the place, and the fact that they were quite literally on the edge of the Abyssal Rift... yeah, Varric wanted to go home even more than usual.

Like everywhere else they went, the Approach needed them to fix a lot of problems. Varric hadn’t actually expected that, given the distinct lack of _people_ in the vicinity, but so it was. A bandit group called the White Claw Raiders had been attacking the few travelers in the region, abducting them for the Red Templars – probably to grow more red lyrium, given what Bethany and Dorian saw on their strange trip to the future. The very idea was sickening. They had also attacked and murdered a group of researchers from the University of Orlais; the only one they hadn’t gotten was the leader, a masked guy who called himself Frederic of Serault, Professor of Draconology. He was nice enough, but a little wacky, in ways that probably weren’t caused by the sun cooking his brain (although that almost certainly didn’t help). In particular, he was there to observe the dragon they saw swooping through the sky.

“A high dragon. Just what we need,” Varric muttered. He did not share Bull’s enthusiasm for the things.

Then there was the matter of the Still Ruins – a place that was so altogether disturbing and unsettling, Varric wasn’t sure he would ever be able to bring himself to put it in a book. They cleared it right enough, purged it of its demons and Venatori and the nightmare mage staff which served as its hidden treasure; but even with the spell broken it retained its unsettling nature. Some of Leliana’s agents went in after them, accompanying a few Chantry scholars, and they all agreed that it should be left to be covered by the shifting desert sands and never seen again.

It was their fourth day in the middle of nowhere, and they were taking refuge in a freshly established camp, from which they could see the ritual tower in the distance. Bethany assembled a small pile of rocks and was heating them with magic in order to make supper for the group, not wanting to build a real fire and add to the searing desert heat. Vivienne had placed a strong cooling spell on the tents in the camp, so most of the others were taking advantage of the phenomenon to get some rest until the food was ready; Varric, however, was braving his dislike of the climate to keep Bethany company while she cooked. Field rations didn’t make for the most appetizing of stews, but it was tolerably filling and at least it smelled decent.

“You think your brothers are here yet?” he asked.

“I don’t know. If they are, I can’t imagine _where_ they are,” she replied. “There’s been no indication that they’ve entered any of our camps, so if they’re here, they must have found a good hiding spot.”

“Probably. They’re resourceful.”

She sighed, and looked up at the sky overhead, which had turned a magnificent rich purple color following the sunset. “I’ll say this for the Western Approach... you get a wonderful view of the stars,” she remarked.

“You’re worried,” said Varric. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I’m worried. Grey Wardens think they’re dying and so they turn to a blood magic ritual? That would be worrisome even without Carver’s involvement. But I can’t get past the idea that he has something in his head telling him to say goodbye to the world.” She shuddered. “What a horrifying notion. Poor Carver.”

“Yeah, Junior becoming a Grey Warden wasn’t something we ever expected when we headed down to the Deep Roads.” It was Varric’s turn to sigh. “If there’d been any other way to save him, you know we’d have done it, right?”

“I know, Varric.” It wasn’t the first time they’d had _that_ conversation, after all. “I won’t even say it was a bad thing for him – I feel like becoming a Warden gave Carver a purpose that he maybe lacked. I just hate to think that it’s so difficult for him, what with this Calling and the other Wardens trying to capture him and everything.”

“Not what he signed on for when he joined the expedition,” Varric agreed. “Let’s face it – _none_ of what happened was what any of us expected. It’s been how many years now, and the events of that whole thing are still haunting us.”

“Everything changed.” Sunshine’s eyes were sad in the fading light. “All at once, everything was different. Carver likes to say that Garrett punched his way to Champion, I blazed my way into the Circle, and he himself died his way into the Wardens. And I know it’s just his sense of humor...”

“Yeah, he grew one of those eventually.”

She chuckled lightly. “It’s just his sense of humor but it’s also true. The moment you entered that thaig, all of our lives changed forever. Nothing was the same anymore.”

“All because of Bartrand and me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Varric,” Bethany admonished him gently. “You know that, right? Yes, it was a mess and yes, it changed everything. But not because of anything you did. You did everything you could to make things better – for me, for my brothers, for everybody. Try to remember that part more.”

Varric smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, by the way. Don’t think I didn’t notice you _not_ talking about Bianca when we were in Crestwood.”

“It isn’t my story to tell.” Smiling just a touch wryly, she stirred the contents of the pot. “I think this is ready, if you want to alert the others. It’s as much like food as I can make it, anyway.”

* * *

Varric wasn’t entirely convinced that the others hadn’t been listening to his conversation with Bethany. Some of them probably weren’t, but he couldn’t be sure about all of them, and he was determined to keep the dinner conversation light in order to distract anyone from asking questions. To that end, he sat down next to the Iron Bull. He’d come to the conclusion that Bull was good for two things in particular – being a hulking meat shield in battle and providing witty banter out of battle – and he needed the second one.

“You doing all right, Bull?” he asked, poking a spoon into his bowl of whatever Bethany had made. “I heard you breathing a little hard after the last fight.”

Bull looked a little puzzled, maybe faintly annoyed at having been called out on such a thing. “Lung exercises,” he replied with a grunt. “Clearing the humors – it’s a Qun thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hey, some of us have to swing a giant hunk of metal instead of pulling our girlfriend's trigger from the back row.”

Startled, Varric laughed, as did most of the others listening. “Ouch!” He winced slightly, however, as he saw Bethany stiffen at Bull’s comment.

“Too close to home?” Bull asked, a little concerned.

“No, no, that was good!” The dwarf chuckled again. “I should find a way to work that into my next book.”

“All right, but it was my line.” Bull relaxed. “You’re gonna credit me in the acknowledgments, right?”

“Sure, I think that can be arranged.”

“You know, Varric, I read some of your book,” said Blackwall. “Riveting stuff. _Hard in Hightown,_ was it?”

“And you only read _some_ of it?” Blackwall had the habit of reminding Varric a little too much of Sebastian, although the resemblance was wearing off the longer he knew the Warden. Blackwall was a nice guy, where Sebastian was _nice_. There was a distinct difference, in Blackwall’s favor.

“Well, I, uh... found it in a latrine near Churneau.” Blackwall looked embarrassed. “There were... pages missing.”

There was a lot of chortling at that. Bull threw his enormous head back and laughed so loudly, the nearby rocks started ringing. “Tiny, if you create some kind of rockslide, I’m climbing onto your shoulders to escape,” Varric warned him.

“Speaking of your book,” said Bull, once his laughter had subsided, “I had a question for you.  Where do your bad guys come from?”

“Well, some of them come from Tevinter and some are Ben-Hassrath spies,” Varric mused. “But I like the stories where the villain was the man beside you the whole time. The best villains don't see themselves as evil. They're fighting for a good cause, willing to get their hands dirty.” He was frankly amused by the way everyone was listening to his conversation rather than holding their own, especially since he was talking about his writing. Solas had a curious expression on his face, which reminded Varric that even _Chuckles_ had read the book.

“All right,” said Bull, slowly, “that's really deep and all, but I meant where do the bad guys come from, _literally_? The way you write it, it's like they just fall from the sky and land on top on the hero.”

Varric shrugged. “I like to leave some things to the reader's imagination.”

“Is _that_ what you call it?” Cassandra retorted.

“Hey, you didn’t have any difficulty using _your_ imagination when you were interrogating me,” he replied. “I didn’t exactly have to draw you a diagram.”

* * *

Buttercup still wasn’t quite right the following morning, so it was decided that she’d remain in the camp, along with Solas and Blackwall, while the others went to the ritual tower to confront whoever they found there. Blackwall was a bit more relieved about this than Varric would have expected, but it made sense when he thought about it; he couldn’t exactly be any happier than Carver about what the Wardens were doing, after all, and confronting them might have been too hard. On the plus side, Blackwall assured Bethany that the false Calling wasn’t affecting him. Why that would be, Varric wasn’t quite sure, but at the moment it was too comforting to question very closely. Between Hero and Junior, there were at least two Wardens not being controlled by the madness planted in their heads; maybe there were others too.

“Oh good, you’re here,” said Carver as they arrived. He and Hawke were huddled in a shady corner, not too far from the bloodied remains of some White Claw Raiders who had evidently been dumb enough to try to rob the brothers.

“Have you been waiting long?” Bethany asked, anxious.

“Not terribly. But I’m concerned that we might be a little late, after all – it looks like the ritual might already be in progress.”

“Blood magic.” Hawke shook his head. “Why is it always blood magic? I just hope we can stop them before more people get hurt. Go on, you take point – I’ll cover your backs.” He pulled his daggers, looking irritable; Bethany paused to give his arm an affectionate squeeze before moving forward at Carver’s side.

The actual tower was on a chunk of land on the edge of the Abyssal Rift, which had somehow cracked away from the mainland and was connected to it by an ancient stone bridge. Some greasy Tevinter buffoon was overseeing a grisly scene; Warden mages were attacking one of their rogue brethren in order to summon and bind a demon. He looked almost... Varric might have described his expression at the sight of them as being _delighted_. “Inquisitor,” he called, “what an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.” He punctuated the introduction with an exaggeratedly formal bow.

“Well, you’re not a Warden,” said Carver in an unimpressed voice.

“But _you_ are... the one Clarel let slip,” said Erimond, looking at him. “Yes, I see the resemblance. Twins, or so I’ve been told. And now this adorable family reunion is here to stop me... shall we see how that goes?”

“Yes, let’s.” Bethany glared at him. “Wardens! Can’t you see that he’s using you? Look what he’s already made you do to your fellows!” Sure enough, in addition to the rogue, there looked to be a small pile of corpses in one corner of the area.

“Oh, were you hoping to garner sympathy?” Erimond sneered. “Maybe make them feel a bit of remorse?” He turned to the Warden mages, each waiting patiently with their demon. “Wardens, hands up... and... hands down.” Sure enough, at his words, the mages raised and lowered their hands like marionettes on strings. Their expressions were blank.

“Maker preserve us, he’s taken their minds!” Carver sounded horrified, and Varric couldn’t blame him.

“They did this to themselves,” Erimond explained. His tone was almost cheerful. “You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified, and they looked everywhere for help.”

“Including Tevinter.” Dorian, speaking for the first time since they left the camp, groaned. “ _Vishante kaffas._ ”

“Yes,” Erimond agreed pleasantly. “And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads in the first place, we Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel, full of sympathy, and together we came up with a plan – raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ where the demon army fits into the picture. I was wondering,” said Bethany. Varric stifled a snicker; she sounded so derisive and dry, it made him feel proud.

“You knew about that?” Erimond looked briefly confused before continuing. “Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They’re now my master’s slaves.” He paced back and forth, up on his little dais like some kind of deranged monarch. “This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

“The world will fall to the Blight if you destroy the Wardens!” Carver raged. “What can you possibly gain from this?”

“The Elder One _commands_ the Blight,” Erimond replied loftily. “He is not commanded _by_ it, like the mindless darkspawn. The Blight is neither unstoppable nor uncontrollable; it is merely a tool.”

“Somebody’s certainly a tool,” Varric grumbled, eyes narrowed. He stood just behind Bethany, his fingers itching to pull Bianca from her harness.

“As for me,” Erimond continued, ignoring Varric, “while the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we of the Venatori will be his god-kings here in this world.” He continued answering Bethany’s questions, cheerfully and without sparing details. Varric was more than a little surprised at how forthcoming he was with the details of just how Corypheus took control of the Wardens, how frightened they were.

_Why would he tell us... oh, of course. He has no intention of letting us leave alive, so he’s doing the villain monologue thing. It’s been so long since I had to listen to one of those, I forgot it was something the bad guys actually do sometimes._

“That’s quite some plan you’ve devised. But did you really think I would just stand back and let you destroy the world?” Bethany asked. She sounded more bewildered than angry. “Didn’t your master happen to mention what I did to the Breach?”

“He did. He also mentioned what he did to _you_ at Haven,” Erimond added. In a sudden, fluid move, he thrust his right arm forward; the hand was surrounded by crackling red magic. Bethany let out a groan of shock and pain, dropping to her knees, clutching her left wrist with her right hand and staring at the burst of emerald fire which encased the fingers. “The Elder One showed me how to deal with you,” he said casually, “in the event that you were foolish enough to interfere again.”

“Come on, Sunshine, get up,” Varric pleaded quietly from near her elbow. No one else could get near them, it seemed; Erimond’s magic was preventing anyone from assisting Bethany, and even he himself didn’t seem able to touch her. “Put this jackhole through the wall. He’s scared of you, I can see it in his face... let him know he’s got good reason to be.”

“Trying,” she muttered. Up on the dais, Greasy was still droning about his master. With a deep breath, Bethany released her wrist and reached back, letting Varric catch her right hand. Once she was steady on her feet again, he let her go.

“When I bring him your head,” Erimond was saying, “his gratitude will be – _augh_!” He had been too busy congratulating himself to notice that Bethany was no longer on the ground, and she lashed out with the Anchor, breaking his hold. It didn’t quite put him through the wall, but it was close enough for Varric’s satisfaction.

Erimond _whined_ as he got up again. Not loudly; maybe Varric was the only one who heard it; but it was there. “Kill them!” he mewled at the Warden mages, before running away like a sniveling weasel.


	13. Your Very Own Keep in the Middle of Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More adventures in the Western Approach, and Hawke returns to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horrible weather. Just horrible. I hope all my readers are safe and warm. But the painkillers are doing their thing, and the reviews really do keep my spirits up, so here's another chapter and I might put up one more.

The fight was quick and brutal. It helped that, between the Inquisition members and the Hawke siblings, the Wardens and their demons were (just barely) outnumbered. “You were right, brother,” said Carver with a sigh, pulling off his helmet once it was all over. “Corypheus has taken over the minds of the Warden mages. He created our fear, then he preyed upon it. They’re his slaves.” His expression was weary; it seemed like he’d gotten older in the space of a few minutes, and Bethany put a hand on his armored shoulder.

“They refused to listen to reason. But what of the warriors?” asked Hawke. His brother and sister merely shook their heads, and he groaned. “Of course. Sacrificed in the ritual... what a waste.”

“Thank the Maker you were able to get away, Carver,” Bethany said. She gave a little shudder. “Andraste guide these poor souls... I suppose we had better set up a pyre for them before we go, if only so that Erimond character doesn’t get any ideas about coming back to use them in some other ghastly fashion. Everyone, look around for some flammable things we can use to build it.”

“Blood magic and demons. It’s _always_ blood magic and demons!” Hawke ranted, even as he moved to help find some fuel. “Just once it would be novel to have it be something else – _anything_ else!”

“I know the Wardens are wrong to do this,” said Carver, “but they had their reasons, you know. They’re scared. _I’m_ scared.”

“And yet somehow _you_ didn’t look at a demon army and a blood magic ritual and think it was a good idea,” said Hawke. He was obviously trying to curb his agitation for Carver’s sake. “Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions, and it never matters. In the end, you’re always alone with your actions.”

This was so, and Varric knew it, but he was more than a little unsettled by his old friend’s tone. Everyone else seemed to think it the better part of wisdom to hold their tongues, so he did likewise until the flames were roaring on the dais and the Wardens were released to their final reward. “Well, what now?” he asked finally.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I know where the rest of the order is gathering,” said Carver. He pointed into the far distance. “Erimond ran that way. Keep going far enough in that direction, and you’ll come to Adamant – it’s an old abandoned fortress of ours, a relic from one of the earliest Blights that hasn’t been used in a long time. My guess is that Clarel has the various chapters converging there for the big ritual.”

“Good thinking,” Bethany said with a nod.

“We’ll head there and scope out the situation,” Carver continued, gesturing at himself and Hawke, “and make sure I’m right. Once we know for sure what’s happening, we’ll meet you at Skyhold to plan the assault.”

“Do you really think we have that much time?” Dorian wondered. “Erimond has a head start. What if they already have the ritual in progress by the time you get there?”

Carver shook his head. “I know this much about their plans – Clarel wants _all_ of the Orlesian Wardens participating,” he said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she tried summoning some chapters from other countries too, but she definitely issued orders to all of them here. Orlais is enormous, so it has the most Wardens outside of the Anderfels. It’s going to take a while for everyone to get to Adamant, and that works to our advantage. Once we’re able to see what’s happening, we’ll have an idea of just how much time we’ve got.”

“We have a few things we should wrap up here before we head back to Skyhold,” Bethany mused. “That fortress of Griffon Wing Keep would be helpful for our people, if we can claim it.”

“Why, Inquisitor,” Varric interjected, “you want your very own keep in the middle of nowhere?”

She chuckled. “It’s got a water supply and a good tactical location. I’ve already had Scout Harding send word to Cullen that these fumes need to be contained before any more of our soldiers come to this part of Orlais.” She gestured to the northeast, where there was... Varric wasn’t quite sure what to call it. The word _cesspool_ was close, but not an entirely accurate description. Noxious natural gases were erupting from under the ground, making the way forward impossible; explorations had to be halted until workers arrived from Skyhold to build some contraptions to safely funnel the gases away from their breathing air, along with some sturdy walkways.

“Never a dull moment with you three,” said Hawke, shaking his head. He sounded more like his usual self. Bethany embraced both of her brothers, and Varric shook their hands, and with polite farewells for the others they left the ritual tower and went to pick up Erimond’s trail.

* * *

It was tricky to count the days in the Maker-forsaken desert, since he was almost positive that one day there was as long as three in other places; but as far as Varric could tell, it was the middle of the following week when they finally started their trek back to Skyhold.

Taking Griffon Wing Keep for the Inquisition was entertaining, in the same sort of way that snuggling with a dracolisk might be considered entertaining. Instead of bashing in the front door like they’d done at Caer Bronach, they skulked around behind the keep – Varric always approved of skulking – and found a hidden entrance blocked by a magical force field, which Sunshine could dispel without difficulty. Actually climbing up into the keep this way was a lot harder, since it involved shimmying up a rope in the old well, but they managed it and quite thoroughly surprised the Venatori who were standing around the place when they emerged. Once these had been dispatched and the Inquisition colors were flying, it was just a matter of bringing in people and supplies. Some screens were erected to give the place better shade, Curly’s pal Rylen came to oversee the troops, and the Inquisitor and her collection of walking oddities set off in search of a marauding band of darkspawn.

This led them into the ruins of something called Coracavus, which – as far as they could work out – had once been an ancient Tevinter prison. It was a real peach of a place, with cages hanging from the ceilings and moldering architecture in the classic Tevinter ‘Is this impressive enough yet?’ style.

“An effective place, I suspect,” Cassandra grumbled. “I cannot even imagine what sort of despair must have been in the minds of those imprisoned in such a desolate place.”

“Looks like the darkspawn are nesting here,” Blackwall mused after a small group had been dispatched.

“I hate to say it, but this probably isn’t all of them.” Bethany frowned. “Everybody stay alert while we search the place, because I have a feeling we’re going to find a lot more.”

“And you wonder why I call you Sunshine,” Varric sighed. She laughed, glancing at him; he could see that she was grateful for the joke. Several bloody minutes later, the rogues and fighters watched the mages of the group seal off the gaping hole through which the darkspawn had been getting into the ruin. “Let’s hope that holds,” he grumbled.

The lowest level still had corpses of long-dead prisoners rotting inside their cells, with traces of evidence that they had been subjected to...  _creative_ forms of discipline. There, they also found a note from – presumably – one Venatori to another, commenting on the feral nature of giants being used to sift rubble. “Using giants as beasts of burden? It’s madness!” Blackwall exclaimed.

Varric snorted. “Can you imagine trying to keep it _watered_ out here?”

“This place is almost as horrible as the Still Ruins,” said Bethany. “And I’m only putting that one up higher on the list because of the experimentation. At least we got the dragon document for Professor Frederic, and it really seemed to help him with what he was doing. I think that was the only good thing about that whole day.” She shuddered at the memory.

It came as a surprise to approximately no one that the note they found in the prison level had been a warning. Sure enough, the red lyrium-tainted giant had apparently turned on its masters and was rampaging through the prison courtyard. The creature had apparently gone mad, from dehydration perhaps; once it had killed the Venatori who had enslaved it, there was no one to provide it with water or food, so this seemed like a probable explanation.

“Glad we were all here to share this together,” Bull shouted dryly, delivering the final crippling blow to the giant. “Timber!”

They watched the monster pitch forward onto its face. “Would you call this a mercy kill?” Solas wondered. “If we had not come here, the giant likely would have either starved to death or been destroyed by the darkspawn rampaging through the ruin. At least we spared it a modicum of suffering.”

“Can we _please_ leave this wretched part of the world?” Vivienne asked.

“Soon,” Bethany promised. There were still some Venatori (and another giant) to dispatch in the valley beyond Coracavus, and a Tevinter somebody-or-other called Servis, who was not killed but taken into custody; for whatever reason, Sunshine thought he might have some useful intelligence with which he could be persuaded to part. Two pairs of massive gates had prevented them from entering this valley at either end, but the ancient mechanisms were soon put to work, the ugly doors were sent swinging outward, and Inquisition scouts came to establish another camp and avail themselves of the supplies which the dead Venatori would no longer be needing. Hey, why let them go to waste?

* * *

This accomplished, they made their way out of the Blight-devastated desert and, with as much speed as they were capable of urging their mounts to employ, fled to the cooler climes and comparative safety of Skyhold. The castle seemed to welcome them with what felt like a sense of relief, although maybe that was just Varric’s imagination being slightly overactive. It was known to do that, after all.

Hawke reached Skyhold not long after they did; Varric and Bethany found him in the hallway outside the war room, waiting for the council. “We tracked the Wardens to Adamant, just like Carver thought,” he told them, hugging his sister. “I left him there to keep an eye on things, and came to make my report like I promised. Don’t worry,” he added, seeing the look on her face, “he’s safe enough. The last place they’ll expect to be looking for him is right under their noses.”

“I guess that’s true enough, but I’m going to worry anyway.”

“I won’t try to stop you.” Seeing the three advisors approaching, he released her, acknowledging them respectfully. “Been a long time, Cullen. The new job looks like it agrees with you.”

“I’ve found some peace here in Skyhold,” Curly agreed thoughtfully, shaking hands with the new arrival.

“Among other things,” said Leliana in a sly tone, and Josephine giggled. Varric suppressed a smirk; clearly, he wasn’t the only one who had noticed Curly’s auburn-haired distraction.

“That’s not – I mean – we have work to do.”

“Of course.”

Bethany, Hawke, and the war council made their way into the room. Varric sat down on a bench along the wall, waiting for his friend to emerge. He wouldn’t force his way into the meeting, of course. He just wanted to see Hawke while he could.

How long he sat there, he wasn’t entirely sure, but the shadows cast by the sun through the broken wall opposite hadn’t lengthened very much when the door opened, and Hawke emerged. “The council has my report,” he said, “and they’re discussing options with Bethany now.” He sighed. “You know, this is all bad enough without my little sister being the one who has to save the world.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Thank the Maker you’re here, that’s all I can say.” Hawke shook his head; in the light of the afternoon, it was more apparent than usual that the thick black hair was touched with gray in some places. Hawke was a few years younger than Varric, but the weight and the worry of the last several years was taking its toll. Varric had to remind himself that humans aged more obviously than dwarves.

“I’m doing what I can,” Varric replied, “but sometimes I think I’m adding to her burdens as much as I’m helping her to bear them.” Valammar was firmly in his mind.

“I doubt that. You’re not the only one writing to me, after all,” Hawke said with a chuckle. “She never mentions you in her letters except to say how much help you are and how grateful she is that you’re with her.”

“That sounds like Sunshine,” he agreed. “She puts up a heroic front like you wouldn’t believe. Even when we learned more about how Corypheus got his hands on red lyrium, she took it about as well as anyone could.”

“...are you going to tell me about this?”

“Eh, it’s... complicated,” Varric hedged. “But it all goes back to the thaig. You know the one. If it hadn’t been for Bartrand and me and our expedition, maybe none of this would have happened. So much for changing our lives.”

“That’s what happens when you try to change things. Things change,” Hawke replied. He took a seat next to Varric. “This wasn’t your fault, you know. You have a tendency to blame yourself for things that no one could have seen coming. Like Carver.”

“He should be on that ship with you and Rivaini, or something. Not killing darkspawn for the rest of his shortened life.”

“But that’s the thing about Carver, Varric. All his life, he was looking for something. Purpose, or meaning, or...  _something_. I never really knew what, I only knew that he never seemed to find it. Bethany had her magic and I had my mischief...”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Carver could fight. That was his thing,” said Hawke. “He was good at it, even when he was really young. And he always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and he wanted to fight the bad guys. It’s why he went to Ostagar at the start of the Blight, to fight with the King’s forces against the darkspawn. I only went to keep an eye on him,” he admitted. “More than once I’ve wondered what would have become of us if the darkspawn had been forced back that day, if things had gone according to plan and Loghain hadn’t betrayed Cailan to his death. Would we have still gone to Kirkwall?”

“I hope so, otherwise I’d never have gotten to tell your story,” Varric noted. He was feeling a little better about the whole thing; Hawke always did have that effect on him.

“We can’t change the past, Varric,” Hawke reminded him. “And we can’t run from it, either, no matter how hard we try. That’s something I’ve learned... while trying to run from it. Maybe things would be better if we’d never come to this point in our lives, but maybe they’d be a lot worse. In the end, it doesn’t matter. We _are_ at this point, and we’ve got to do the best we can with it.”

“Huh. When did you become a philosopher?”

“Isabela will tell you it happened on the ship.” The bearded rogue shrugged. “The sea teaches you a lot of things, about yourself most of all.”

“Ooh, that’s a good line, you mind if I write that down?”

“I love how you ask me that as if you’re giving me a choice.”

“Well, yeah.”

* * *

Hawke, Varric was happy to learn, intended to remain at Skyhold until the Inquisition forces would march on Adamant. The two of them and Bethany had a quiet, private dinner that night in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Normally, she liked to eat with all of the members of her ‘inner circle,’ or at least such as could be persuaded to gather at a given time; but under the circumstances, Varric doubted anyone would begrudge Bethany wanting to keep her brother (almost) all to herself for one evening.

“Cullen’s very sanguine about the whole thing,” she reported as they ate. “He’s expecting that something which was built several ages ago isn’t going to be able to hold up to modern siege equipment. We lost all of our own trebuchets the night we had to abandon Haven, of course. But Josephine has reached out to one of our noble allies to borrow some of her combat engineers, and they’re providing us with what we need to get into the fortress. As soon as those arrive, we’ll be ready to march.”

“Back to the Blight-damned end of the world, eh, Sunshine?”

“Varric can’t decide which one he loves more,” she told Hawke. “The desert, or the swamp.”

“In my defense, I was deliberately not taken along to the swamp,” Varric reminded her. “I didn’t really get the chance to make an informed decision. But I’m pretty sure I’d rather be dry than nearly drowned.”

“Sounds like you two are really having fun here,” Hawke remarked.

“Oh, it’s been enchanting. Angry Seekers, jars of bees used as weapons of war, massive stone slabs unearthed and hauled back here to decorate the walls, and the occasional discovery of a stray bottle of some weird vintage of drink I’m not sure I’d be willing to even taste,” said Varric. “Plus there’s this collection of weird keys we keep finding that unlock some mysterious door out in the desert, a place called the Forbidden Oasis. I can’t wait for _that_ excursion. With a name like that, you know it’s bound to be overflowing with good times and happiness.”

Bethany laughed. “And we haven’t even mentioned the fact that our new friends are maintaining a running list of all the things that Varric hates. I actually think Dorian might try to convince Leliana to put it into a song.”

“Well, he never has liked leaving the city,” said Hawke with a laugh, refilling her mug for her. “The farther from Kirkwall Varric is, the grumpier he gets. Like all those visits to the Wounded Coast and Sundermount where he was forced to acknowledge that nature does in fact exist.”

“Oh yes. I remember them well.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” Varric grumbled. He didn’t really mind it, of course, but he had a reputation to maintain.

“We know. This way, you can’t accuse us of talking about you behind your back,” Bethany returned sweetly.

“Fair point, Sunshine,” he replied, chuckling.


	14. Try to Make the Heroes Sound Taller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... yeah. So I know a couple people have already suspected where I'm heading with this. You're probably going to hate me a little bit for what you're about to read. I understand. Please try to trust me. This is the way the story goes.

Hawke’s days at Skyhold passed entirely too quickly, in Varric’s estimation. It had been far too long since he had been able to properly enjoy any length of time in the company of his best friend, and the dwarf was not about to let the opportunity go to waste. There were hands of Diamondback and Wicked Grace, rounds of storytelling in the Herald’s Rest, walks along the ramparts where they could talk privately to one another, and serene moments in which they simply occupied the same area of the castle, sitting in perfect companionable silence while doing their own things.

It wasn’t a continuous party, of course. Bethany was still the Inquisitor and busy as always, whether she was checking on requisitions with the quartermaster or consulting with Ruffles about visiting dignitaries or discussing the plight of some spirit who had appealed to Solas for help. To Varric’s profound amusement, Hawke occasionally liked to shadow her around the castle, observing her day-to-day tasks and how well she was handling them. Watching her hold court seemed to particularly interest him; he was front and center when she handed down the sentence on Crassius Servis, the guy they had apprehended in the Western Approach. He was more or less a Tevinter nobody who, having gotten tangled in the Corypheus mess and managed to survive his fight against the Inquisitor’s forces, offered his service (no pun intended, probably) as a smuggler and informant in exchange for his life. She accepted.

“Do you have any idea,” Varric heard him ask, after the hearing adjourned, “how weird it is to hear people addressing my little sister as ‘Your Worship’?”

She snorted. “Do _you_ have any idea,” she replied, “how weird it is to _be_ the person they’re addressing that way? And the bowing is just too much. I don’t mind being saluted, but it makes me really uncomfortable when they bow – or worse, kneel. I’m not a queen or anything. I’m just a mage who has the Hawke family virtues.”

“Family virtues?” he repeated, looking amused. “Which ones are those?”

“You said it yourself, all those years ago at Chateau Haine.” She giggled. “We all have an excellent sense of dramatic timing and good hair.”

“Oh, _those_ family virtues. I’d almost forgotten.”

Varric waved them off, chuckling and watching as Hawke slung his arm around his little sister’s shoulders. They were probably heading to the tavern for a quick drink; he’d look for them later. As he sat down in his usual spot to resume making notes on their recent adventures, however, he saw Cassandra approaching him. “Seeker.”

“You know,” she said, in a clumsy sort of way like she was trying to make friendly conversation but didn’t know _how_ , “the Hawke brothers are taller than I imagined them.”

He snorted. “Tell you what, Seeker. Next time you make me tell a story at knife-point, I’ll try to make the heroes sound taller.”

“Well, it’s just... Bethany is so petite, I suppose I assumed her brothers were of similar builds.”

“Fair enough. Sunshine’s always been tiny.” He paused, and then realized that there was something he’d been meaning to say to her. “Look, Seeker... about our conversation on the way to Crestwood. I didn’t mean to make you talk about your mage friend.”

Cassandra looked genuinely surprised, but only for a few seconds. “I know. I was not trying to make you speak of Bianca.” She hesitated, and then smiled. “If I was, you would know it. I would have yelled. Books would be stabbed.”

It was Varric’s turn to be surprised, and he chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

It couldn’t last, of course. Ten days after their return from the Approach, they were packing the saddlebags. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers,” Ruffles informed them. The combat engineers Bethany had mentioned had arrived in short order, and quickly provided them with the siege equipment that Curly was sure was going to bring down the walls of Adamant. Barring anything unexpected (which, to be fair, was always to _be_ expected), they would soon be able to stop the Wardens from carrying out their panicky plan.

Josephine and Leliana would be holding down the fort at Skyhold. Cullen, however, was apparently taking a leaf out of Bethany’s book, in the sense that he intended to fight side by side with his soldiers. “Are they really getting along?” Hawke asked Varric, quietly, as they tended their gear in preparation. “I thought Bethany didn’t particularly like Cullen.”

“They’ve had their issues, no question,” Varric replied.

“She was afraid of him, back in Kirkwall. Before the Circle, that is. After Meredith, she wasn’t afraid of him anymore, but I never felt like she trusted him too much either.” Hawke looked thoughtful. “Then again, that’s not hard to understand.”

“That whole ‘mages are not people’ thing rankled with her for a long time – among other things.” Varric nodded. “She was pretty shocked when I told her he was the military boss. They used to butt heads a lot more often, probably more than she even told me.”

“What changed?”

“I had something to do with it, actually. That’s not my ego talking, either,” he added.

“Since when?”

“Very funny. You know that Haven… fell,” Varric said slowly. “You don’t know a lot of the specifics. You wouldn’t like them, either, so don’t ask. But this much I can tell you – Sunshine got Curly to trick me into doing something I didn’t want to do. Truth is, if he hadn’t, I’d probably be dead. The fact that he did what she asked, and as a result I am _not_ dead, persuaded her that she really can trust him.”

“Really?” Hawke snorted. “That’s all it took?”

“I happen to be an extremely valuable commodity in the Inquisition, Hawke. I have to be protected.” Varric chuckled. “Seriously, though, as far as I can tell that was the tipping point for them. I don’t know if I’d call them _friends_ , but they definitely get along better now. I think Sparkler helps too.”

“Sparkler – that’s Dorian, right? Sometimes I forget the nicknames you gave to your new band of merry misfits.”

“That’s him, yeah. He’s pretty attached to Sunshine and he’s also gotten to be friends with Curly, so unless I’m wildly mistaken, he does a bit here and there to keep things patched between them. Curly having a girlfriend doesn’t hurt either.”

“Wait, wait.” Hawke froze in the midst of sharpening one of his knives. “I’ve been in Skyhold for almost a fortnight and you never thought to tell me that _Cullen has a girlfriend_?”

Varric laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. The Seeker’s got herself a doting swain. And he and Curly’s sweetheart are best friends or something, they came here together from the Free Marches.”

“You’ve been holding out on me!”

“Honestly, I don’t have as many details as I would want before telling the story.” He paused, and shrugged. “Of course, if you don’t mind my simply _inventing_ those details...”

“Would I really know the difference anyway? Would you care if I did?”

“Good point. All right, so it wasn’t long after we arrived here in Skyhold...”

* * *

Varric honestly wasn’t sure if it really was nighttime when they began their assault on Adamant Fortress, or if the sky was just giving them some appropriate mood lighting.

They met up with Carver maybe half a league from the place, and the face beneath his Warden helmet was ghastly pale. “They’ve started,” he rasped, pulling off the helm and gazing anxiously at his siblings. “I only just got clear, they almost caught me leaving.”

“You mean you’ve been _in_ there this whole time?” Bethany asked, horrified.

“Where better to hide? As long as I kept my helmet on, I could move around without much notice.” He shrugged. “I learned the escape routes early and kept as close to them as possible. Maker, the _song..._ ” Shaking his head, he pressed one gauntleted hand to his temple. “It’s grown _so loud_. It’s driving me mad. We have to stop him, please!”

“Of course. Of course we will,” she said. “Let’s move out.” With a mighty groan, the wheels of the siege equipment surged forward once again. The advance vanguard, meanwhile, began moving double time in order to reach the fortress and perhaps slow the Wardens’ progress.

The sky had gone black by the time the Inquisitor and her hand-chosen elite, or whatever history would one day decide to call them, reached Adamant. No stars were visible; even the moons weren’t putting in much of an appearance. But they could see plumes of smoke coming from where trebuchet volleys had crashed into the ancient construction and started small fires, and a battering ram shaped like a massive fist was being swung at the heavy doors.

“That is the tackiest piece of siege equipment I’ve ever seen,” Hawke remarked idly. “Knock-knock! Who’s there? Inquisition! Inquisition who?”

“Did Varric teach you knock-knock jokes too?” asked Cole.

“No, Kid, I never had to teach this one any kind of jokes,” Varric replied. “He comes up with his own.”

A great cheer rose up among the Inquisition forces as the door finally splintered under the force of the battering fist. Cullen shouldered his way into the fortress; he was followed closely by a figure in heavy armor, whom Varric would have laid coin was most likely the commander’s girlfriend. “All right, Inquisitor,” he said briskly, as Varric and the Hawkes joined him, “you have your way in. Best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.”

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. “Just keep the men safe, please – don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor. I daresay your brothers will guard your back,” he added. “Our soldiers are on the battlements, awaiting your arrival.”

Before any of them could comment farther, there was a scream, and they all looked up to see an armored figure – Varric couldn’t tell the individual’s faction from a distance – tumble over the battlement and fall to their death. A demon, one of the swoopy kinds that looked like it had a giant scrub brush mounted on its back, stared down at them and seemed to hiss before gliding away.

Cullen shook his head. “There's too much resistance on the walls,” he grumbled. “Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold! If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance.”

“We’re on it,” said Carver. “Let’s go.”

As Cullen and his self-appointed bodyguard ran back to assist the soldiers still outside the fortress, Bethany looked at her companions. “Garrett and Carver will come with me, of course,” she said. “I think we’d best split up, otherwise. Cassandra, Solas, and Sera – take the eastern stairs over there and try to clear those battlements. Varric, Dorian, and Bull, do the same to the south. Blackwall, you might be able to help us convince some of the warriors to fall back, so you come with us. Vivienne, Cole, you too.” She leveled them all with a serious, anxious expression. “ _Be careful_ , please. Once you’ve cleared your section of battlements, come and find us.”

“You be careful too, Sunshine. All of you.” Varric looked uneasily at his Hawkes. Something felt... funny. He couldn’t put a name to it, but he took a few seconds to scrutinize the three of them like he was trying to memorize their faces. This accomplished, he turned and followed Dorian to the southern ramparts, taking a flask of knockout powder from his coat pocket as he went. He didn’t enjoy the notion of killing any more Wardens than absolutely necessary, if only for Junior’s sake.

His discomfort soon got swept away in a surge of concern and something not unlike anger when he saw two Warden mages attempting to direct a pride demon and a handful of the swoopy scrub brushers. (He was pretty sure those had a name; he just wasn’t sure what it was and to be honest, he didn’t really care.) If the discarded corpses nearby were any indication, they had bled no less than six of their fellow Wardens in order to gain some tiny measure of control over these things, and it pissed him off when he thought about the fact that Carver could have been one of them. The fact that pride demons had the creepiest laughs in the history of anything ever? Yeah, that didn’t help anything.

It lashed out with its lightning whip many times before they ultimately brought it down, by which point Varric had choked down three elfroot potions and Bianca was almost weeping from how much strain he’d been putting on her. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured, slotting her back into position between his shoulder blades. “Daddy’ll buy you something pretty to make up for all this.” Turning, he saw Solas and Sera pelting toward them. “What happened? You three all right?” he called.

“Our soldiers are on the eastern battlements, as the Inquisitor directed,” Solas reported, jogging to a halt. “What of you?”

“It was a long, drawn-out battle such as the bards may find inspirational for songwriting,” Dorian retorted, kicking at a little pile of ashes which used to be a demon. “But we’re alive; I’ll take it. Let’s go find the Hawkes before Varric has a nervous breakdown.”

“I’ve been having one of those pretty continuously ever since I found out just who survived the Conclave, Sparkler,” Varric retorted. “Wait a minute, where’s the Seeker?”

“Dragon,” Sera managed, pushing back her helmet with shaking hands. Varric caught a glimpse of her enormous eyes and realized that Buttercup was scared out of her wits.

“Dragon?” Dorian repeated.

“Did you not hear it?” Solas asked. “As we were completing our objective in aiding the Inquisition soldiers to climb their ladders, we heard the screech of Corypheus’s red lyrium dragon. It swooped overhead and, we believe, may have landed on another part of the fortress.” He shook his head. “Cassandra ordered us to find you and set off in pursuit of the beast.”

“She lives up to her name, you have to give her that,” Bull rumbled. “She’s a Pentaghast all right.”

“We’d better go help.” Varric was trying to remain calm, at least outwardly, but the longer his friends were out of sight the more rattled he became. As they started to cross the cleared battlements, they heard what sounded like repeated crashes of lightning. “Andraste’s ass, what was _that_?”

“Magic,” Solas reported. “A powerful combat spell, if I’m not mistaken.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the stone ramparts beneath their feet seemed to tremble wildly, as though the dragon had somehow managed to seize the entire fortress and was shaking it violently in its claws. “Down the stairs, before this thing falls out from under us!” Bull growled. He scooped up Sera almost like she was a child, and might have done the same to Varric if he were any closer; vividly recalling the last time Bull had forcibly carried him anyplace, he was glad it wasn’t an option. They clattered down the nearest staircase, all but tumbling to a halt at the bottom, and tried to get their bearings.

The worst of it seemed to be over, Varric thought, slowly picking himself up and moving to help Solas. Whatever had caused the mighty tremors had stopped. That was good news. As he looked around, he realized that the Wardens had stopped fighting the Inquisition forces; they were now working side by side to subdue the demon army. That was even better news. There was no sign of the Erimond weasel, nor of Warden-Commander Clarel, but he didn’t entirely care. The enemy forces had become allies, and it gave him hope.

“There she is,” said Dorian, pointing. The tall, spare figure of Cassandra was threading her way through the fighting, pausing here and there to bash one demon or another in the face with her sword; but the act seemed almost distracted, like she wasn’t really thinking about killing the demons because she was focused on something else.

“Varric,” she called, drawing near enough to see their group. “Is everyone all right? Where is Varric?”

“I’m here,” he said, moving to where she could catch sight of him as she approached. Something in the Seeker’s face made his stomach drop down into his boots. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s... it’s the Hawkes...”

* * *

“ _What do you mean, they fell into a rift?_ ”

Varric recalled, dimly, the sensation of blood draining out of his face at the moment he first discovered that Bethany – his sweet Sunshine – was the Herald of Andraste. What he felt now was more like all of the blood had drained out of his entire body. Cassandra’s description of events, of what she had witnessed following the death of the Warden-Commander, rang in his ears like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

Bethany, gone. Hawke, gone. Carver, gone. All three siblings plummeted from the crumbling bridge into a rift which Bethany had apparently opened with the Anchor. They were (he assumed) in the Fade, along with the rest of their other companions. The group which remained was shaken, each of them awash with grief and concern and terror. But none of the others could come close to Varric in terms of sheer _pain_.

It was his fault. If he’d never taken Hawke and Carver on that expedition – if they’d never found the red lyrium idol – if he’d never told Bianca about the thaig – if, if, if. A hundred missteps, nearly all of them his own.

“She found her way out once before,” Dorian was saying, pulling Varric to his feet. It was only as he did so that the dwarf realized he’d fallen to his knees. “She could do it again. We have to believe she will.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he managed, leaning heavily on Dorian for a moment, until he trusted that his legs could support him again. “And until she does... we have to... we have to keep fighting. Come on. There’s plenty of demons for everybody, right?”

“Quite right,” said Solas. “All is not lost, and it is reasonable to believe they can find their way back to us. We must continue to counteract the Wardens’ folly until they do.” He had a weird, almost dreamy smile as he added, “They are in the Fade – I envy them the experience.”

“Oi, give it a rest on the Fade talk, weirdy,” Sera snapped. “You can be all _the Veil is wobbly here_ and shite after Her Gracious Ladybits comes back and brings the others with her. Until then, stuff it up the Breach!”

Varric felt oddly grateful; he’d been thinking something similar, but hadn’t quite found the words to express it. Dimly he recalled that Blackwall was with Bethany, and he supposed that was the real reason for Sera being so upset. Still, he appreciated her interference, especially since Solas did seem to take her words to heart. “I did not mean to be insensitive,” said the older elf, his tone more humble than usual. “I apologize. Of course there is cause for concern. But we mustn’t let that deter us from fighting to achieve the Inquisitor’s goal.”

* * *

How long they were at it, Varric didn’t know. Might have been ten minutes; might have been a few days short of a month. Time seemed to have lost a lot of its previous meaning. What he did know was that he was running low on crossbow bolts when suddenly, he heard the delighted and astonished cries of Inquisition soldiers. Vivienne came tumbling out of the giant rift at the center of their fighting, followed shortly by Blackwall and then Cole.

There was a sort of a pause. Abruptly, the figure of Bethany spilled out of the rift and onto the ground as though it had literally vomited her up. With a somewhat tortured look in her eyes, and a gasp of tremendous pain, she pushed herself to her knees; looking around, she lifted her marked hand and twitched the fingers, causing every nearby demon to instantly succumb to its screaming demise. As Varric ran toward her, he could see that she was shaking as she sealed the rift. The cry of victory rose up around him even while he skidded to a halt.

“Sunshine! Are you all right? Where’s...” He froze. “ _Where are your brothers?_ ”

She turned to look at him, and the instant their eyes met, even before her face crumpled, he knew. He wanted desperately to just let her cry until she had no pain left to unleash – but the pain would never end, not for either of them, and she needed to be the Inquisitor now. Later, away from this nightmare, they’d find a moment or two where they could be alone and she could just be Bethany. She clutched his hands as he helped her to her feet.

Before she could voice an answer to the question, Blackwall approached her. “She was right,” he said gently, but Varric didn’t know who he meant. “The Nightmare can’t control the Wardens anymore – they’re free from his false Calling.” He gestured to his brethren, standing beside Inquisition forces. “Corypheus has lost his demon army.”

“Yeah, and at what cost,” Varric muttered quietly. He knew that this was for the greater good, of course, and he also knew that it wasn’t as good of a story unless the hero died. That didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. Bethany was still clinging to his shoulder, and he patted her hand.

“Inquisitor!” One of the scouts jogged over to greet her. “The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself.”

“Oh, believe me,” she said in a low voice, “I will.”

“The surviving Wardens are in custody,” added the scout, even as one of the Warden warriors came up to stand beside him.

Bethany stared impassively at the armored figure, who saluted her. “You have our unconditional surrender,” he said. “But... where is Ser Carver?” As Varric glowered at the Warden, he seemed to realize exactly who Carver was to the Inquisitor, and sort of recoiled.

“My... my brothers,” Bethany said, her speech slow and almost steady, “stayed behind to give the rest of us the chance to escape. Ser Carver Hawke exemplified what was best about the Wardens – he was brave, he believed in the ideals of the order, and he was strong enough not to give up his convictions. Garrett... the world will never see the likes of the Champion of Kirkwall again. More than that I can’t tell you.”

“Your Worship,” said the Warden, his voice a bit choked, “we have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “You stay,” she said at length, opening them again, “and you do whatever you can to help.”

“But they hurt people,” Cole protested.

“I know they did,” Bethany told him, not unkindly. “But my brother didn’t. He died believing that the Wardens were a force for good, just like he was.” Turning back to the Warden, she added, “For his sake, I am willing to give the rest of you one final chance to prove he was right.”

“We stand ready to try to make amends for Clarel’s... tragic mistake,” he replied, saluting her a second time with a fist over his heart.

“Corypheus is still a danger to you, and maybe his Venatori are too,” she continued, “but we need your help. We all have to work together if we’re going to win this war.”

“Thank you, Your Worship. We will not fail you.”

“I’ll need a representative to go to Weisshaupt, and deliver a report of these proceedings to the First Warden.” Strength had settled in her voice. “The Wardens should know what’s happened here, so they aren’t caught off guard again. I’ll have it drafted as soon as possible. Figure out which one of you is best at traveling and have them be ready to leave by first light.”

The other members of the inner circle had, by this time, drawn near to hear her words. Varric could read the approval in the faces of some, the displeasure in others, but they all wore a veil of sympathy over their other emotions. No one was going to criticize her decision, though, at least not where she had to hear them. If they did, he’d personally make sure that they regretted it.

* * *

Only when they were alone, in her tent, did Bethany at last give vent to the storm of weeping which had threatened her continuously since her return from the Fade. Varric had his own grief with which to contend; losing Junior was harder than he had ever guessed it might be, and losing his best friend was not to be described. But that would come later. Right now, he had to focus on her, be a bulwark and a support and something of a sponge for her tears. He sat beside her on the bedroll, and she curled against him.

“They told me to go,” she managed, when she could finally speak again. Her eyes were bloodshot and her voice sounded like she’d been gargling with broken glass. “The Nightmare... it was too big for anyone to take, and it was between us and the rift. Someone needed to stay behind, to buy time for the rest of us to run, and they couldn’t agree which of them should do it – so they decided they both would. They told me to tell you... Garrett said...” She sniffled. “‘We love you, Bethany. I know Varric will look after you,’ he said. ‘Tell him I’m sorry.’ Why? Why did they...”

“Because they love you, Sunshine. And the world needs you to keep going. They know that.” He sighed. “Besides, there’s still other rifts out there. If anybody can sucker-punch their way out of the damned Fade, it’s the Hawke brothers.”

Bethany was quiet for a time. “Do you remember when Dorian and I were thrown forward in time?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I never told you... I never told you about what happened, not all of it at least.”

“Sparkler told me some of it. What’s on your mind?”

“You died to save us. You and Cassandra – you sacrificed yourselves to buy us the time to escape. And now my brothers did the same thing. I can’t take it, Varric, I can’t. People shouldn’t be dying for my sake.” She swiped at her flushed and tear-stained cheeks.

“Sometimes that’s how it goes, Sunshine. You were ready to die for all of us when Haven fell,” he reminded her. “Sometimes... the sacrifice is worth it.”

“Gamlen died,” she said abruptly. “With all this Inquisition business I forgot to ask if you heard.”

“No kidding? When?”

“Not long after Garrett left Kirkwall. ‘Died’ probably isn’t the right word,” she amended. “One of his creditors caught up with him and... it didn’t go well. Charade’s in Tantervale, last I heard, but maybe she’ll be going back to claim the tiny bit of nothing he was able to leave her. A few coins, his old wallop mallet, nothing of any real value. But yes… he’s gone. My father’s gone, my mother’s gone, my uncle’s gone... and now my brothers too, both in one swoop....

“Swooping is bad.”

“You said it.” She wiped her eyes again. “I’m all alone now, Varric. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Me too, Sunshine.” He sighed. “I don’t even remember my father. My mother drank herself to death. I had to put my own brother down like some kind of rabid animal. I get what you’re saying. I live with it every day.”

She nodded, looking miserable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“Don’t you apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He briefly tightened his grip on her, and she pressed her face into his sleeve. “At least... well, I’m not exactly Ser Look On The Bright Side, but hey. We’re alone, but we’re alone together. That counts for something, right?”

“Oh, Maker, does it ever.” Bethany sighed. “None of this would be at all bearable without you.”

“I know. I’m delightful.” She actually cracked a smile at that, which made him smile in return. “There’s my Sunshine. Come on, you should try to sleep. I can’t promise everything’ll be better in the morning, but it’ll be as close as I can make it.”

“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose. Thank you, Varric.”

* * *

“This is most assuredly a foolish inquiry,” said Dorian in a gentle voice, when Varric finally emerged from the Inquisitor’s tent, “but how is she?”

“Devastated, as you might expect. She’s asleep – for a little while, anyway.”

“And... how are you?”

“Not much better. They weren’t my brothers... but they might as well have been.” He shook his head. “Since the day we met, Hawke and I were practically inseparable. When Junior went to the Wardens and the Circle claimed Sunshine, he leaned on me more – which was fine. My own brother was occasionally not unbearable, but once he tried to kill the Hawke boys and me, I pretty much wrote him off.” Seeing the Tevinter’s shocked expression, he shook his head. “Remind me to tell you the story later. It looks like you haven’t heard that one.”

“I’m fairly certain I’d remember a detail like that. So, you and the Champion were effectively brothers.”

“In the ways that counted most, yeah. Junior too, to a lesser extent. He had a rough time of things; becoming a Warden really helped him grow. Sunshine is Sunshine – she’s always been hard to dim. This, though... this might do it.” Varric sighed. “For a while, anyway.”


	15. If You Love a Character, You Give Them Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What came after Adamant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm posting this from an undisclosed location. I'm really sorry about what happened in the last chapter - I cried over it myself, repeatedly, and I know what happens. Hopefully you'll find the rest of the story worth the pain.

The procession of the Inquisitor and her inner circle back to Skyhold reminded Varric of a funeral cortege, except without most of the requisite trappings for such a thing. The mounts plodded over the sands of the Western Approach, not changing their pace even as the Blight-devastated lands gave way to the lush greens of the Emerald Graves and then the snowy reaches of the Emprise du Lion. There were still situations in all of these areas that the Inquisition needed to address, problems that apparently only the Inquisitor could really fix. It reminded Varric entirely too much of her big brother in Kirkwall, except that instead of one city-state, Bethany was being expected to shoulder the troubles of half a continent.

 _When,_ he wondered, observing her warily, _is she going to have time to deal with all this?_ Time had the ability to heal all wounds, and he could arguably point at himself as living proof of that, but time couldn’t do all the work. She had to be allowed room to grieve, to come to terms with the sudden loss of her entire family.

And it simply wasn’t an option, he realized. They had deprived Corypheus of his demon army, and that was a huge blow, but he still had plans to assassinate Empress Celene and plunge Orlais into chaos. By the time their mounts crossed the bridge into Skyhold, Ruffles would probably have done all the fancy footwork needed to procure their invitation to the grand masquerade at the Winter Palace. They’d have to step carefully once they were there; Orlesian court society was only marginally different from the Merchants’ Guild in terms of danger and potential bloodshed, and Varric honestly wasn’t sure which was worse. (If asked, he’d guess the Guild, but that was just because he had avoided the Orlesian court at all costs up to this point. He only had hearsay for a point of reference.)

“Copper for your thoughts, Sunshine?” he inquired, moving his mount to walk beside hers.

She shook her head. “Honestly, I’ve been trying _not_ to think,” she admitted. “Between the Fade flashbacks and the... everything, I wish I could just turn off my mind altogether for a while.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I wish you could too.”

* * *

Josephine was, as far as Varric could tell, a little bit younger than Bethany. Not much; maybe a year or two at most. Leliana, on the other hand, was older. How much older, he wouldn’t presume to guess, but she had been a young woman when she’d fought alongside Kingy and the Hero of Ferelden, and that was more than ten years ago at this point.

They both came to meet the returning force, waiting on the landing of the main keep’s stairs while the Inquisitor and her closest allies trooped up to join them. “My agents sent word about... about everything that happened,” said Leliana, gently. “You have our deepest condolences, Bethany, Varric.”

“Thank you,” Bethany replied in her soft way. Varric just nodded. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sentiment; he did, of course. He just didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t known what to say when any of the others had offered their condolences either, not really. Even _Cassandra_ had tried to tell him how sorry she was for his loss, and being on the receiving end of the Seeker’s kindness felt like some kind of unsettling plot twist.

“No doubt you need to rest after all which has just passed,” Josephine was saying, “and I wish we could give you more of a respite. You deserve it. But Corypheus is unlikely to take this defeat lying down, and we must move on his next plans.”

“I assumed as much.” Bethany sighed. “The ball, then?”

“Empress Celene is holding peace talks with her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard, under the auspices of a masquerade at the Winter Palace,” Ruffles confirmed, leading the group into the great hall. “We have procured an invitation for the Inquisitor and her closest associates to attend as guests of the Grand Duke.”

“How’d you pull that off, exactly?” Varric asked. It didn’t surprise him, of course; the Maker Himself probably owed Josephine a favor or two at this point, after all. But he was curious.

“Actually, it was Madame Vivienne who was able to make the arrangement.” Josephine gestured to the First Enchanter.

“You’ve heard me speak of my darling Bastien, surely?” asked Vivienne. Her tone was less languid and droll than it might have been, maybe out of respect for his and Bethany’s grief. “The Duke of Ghislain? Sweet Bethany and I first met during one of my salons at his estate. He’s the Grand Duke’s father-in-law.”

“I wasn’t aware that the Grand Duke was married,” said Cullen.

“Oh, it was years ago, my dear,” Vivienne explained. “I don’t think you could have been more than a child yourself. Grand Duchess Calienne – Bastien’s daughter – was killed at the beginning of Celene’s reign. A ghastly business. But Gaspard is still fond of Bastien and was happy to do him this favor.”

Varric pretty much tuned the whole thing out after this point. Josephine began going over the plans with Vivienne and whoever else was paying attention about what they were going to be wearing; apparently a tailor would be coming to wrap them all in matching red and blue ensembles. He didn’t especially care, and he was almost positive that Bethany didn’t care either. (Maybe if it had been a silk dress, she would have taken more interest. Then again, all things considered, probably not.) Those who weren’t paying attention started yammering amongst themselves, and he was trying to tune that out too.

He glanced at Bethany, who was the only other member of the group who wasn’t speaking. She looked tired to the point of seeming almost ill, and her vibrant topaz eyes were clouded with sorrow. Her gaze flitted from one face to another, not entirely seeing any of them but trying to make it appear as though she did.

Suddenly, and quite altogether out of nowhere, he lost his patience.

“ _Enough_ ,” he said, loudly enough to be heard over the din, and the others stopped and stared at him. “Sorry,” he said, and his voice was back to its usual volume but weighted down with agitation. “I just think this can all wait until tomorrow at least. Our _beloved Inquisitor_ has survived an extremely _nasty_ ordeal and I think she deserves a few hours of quiet, if it’s all the same to the rest of you.” He didn’t mean to bite the ends off of his words, but he could hear himself doing it.

Slowly, the heads turned in Bethany’s direction. Something like surprise crawled over her features, as though she had forgotten where she was. “I... actually, that would be nice, if no one would mind very much.”

“Go on up to your room, Sunshine,” Varric suggested, immediately adopting the tone of voice he always used with her. “Lie on a real bed. I’ll have somebody bring you some soup later.”

She nodded, and headed toward the door. She kept her head up, and she didn’t stumble, but her steps were slow and almost plodding. The stones beneath her feet didn’t echo with quiet confidence as they normally might; they reverberated with a heavy, almost despairing sound, like trying to ring a cracked bell. She ached. He ached. As much as they were hurting together, pierced by the same arrow, neither of them knew how to take any of the other’s burden away.

“How... how is she, really?” Leliana ventured.

“Her entire family is dead, Nightingale. I don’t think they make a potion for that.” Varric couldn’t quite bring himself to be bitter with the spymaster – he knew the question was kindly meant – but at the same time he was surprised that she would even ask such a thing. “Meanwhile... if you’ll all excuse me... I’d better write some letters. Rivaini needs to know, and Aveline. Sebastian too. And the elves. They all... they all need to be told, and that’s a burden I’m not allowing her to bear.”

“Can we be of any assistance?” asked Josephine, softly. “If there’s any way we can help...”

“I appreciate the offer, Ruffles, don’t get me wrong. But I think I have to do this on my own.”

“Come up to the library,” Dorian suggested. Seeing what had to be a puzzled look on Varric’s face, he clarified the matter. “I have a comfortable silencing charm which I sometimes cast over my preferred alcove. It makes a little barrier to keep others from disturbing me while I read. I can do the same for you. You won’t have any privacy down here, as I’m sure you know.”

“I was going to do it in my room, but... maybe that would be better,” he admitted.

“You’ll be alone, but not isolated. Fetch what you need and join me when you’re ready.”

* * *

This was, without a doubt, the absolute worst writing project Varric had ever undertaken. _Swords and Shields_ was a walk in the park by comparison. He was grateful to Dorian for the shield of silence, or whatever the charm was called, which turned out to be even better than advertised. He could see through the vaguely purple barrier it created over the area where he was working, and he could even pass through it if he needed more paper or a drink; but while he could hear the ambient sounds of the library, which kept the silence from being too overwhelming, no one could talk to him. Maybe they wouldn’t have anyway, but it was reassuring to know that they didn’t have the option.

The letter to Aveline was, by far, the hardest, and so he forced himself to write that one first. She was the only one of the Kirkwall companions who had known the Hawkes longer than he had; like Varric, she was less of a friend and more of an extended relation. He tried to spare the details, find a way to say what needed to be said without actually saying it. Would she blame him for what happened? He wasn’t entirely sure. He supposed that if any of them did, it would most likely be their hard-nosed, no-nonsense captain, but he had a feeling Aveline wouldn’t do that. What could he have done, after all? He hadn’t even been in the Fade with them – Bethany had seen to it when she divided up the groups as she had.

He paused, considering that fact. She couldn’t have known what would happen, couldn’t even have guessed. Why _had_ she left him where she did? It surely wasn’t a matter of not trusting him, because she trusted him more than he deserved. He concluded, after a few minutes of contemplation, that either Sunshine had been afraid he would get himself killed trying to protect her or one of her brothers, or else she was reasonably convinced that at least one of them would get badly injured and she didn’t want him to have to witness that. Or maybe both. He wasn’t sorry to have missed a trip into the Fade – once was more than enough for one lifetime, and more than most dwarves had to endure at all, but such had been the situation with Kingy and Isabela. He was just sorry that Bethany had been forced into the position of having to abandon both of her brothers to save her own skin (and the rest of the world, by extension).

If he had gone... if he had been there... would he have tried to stay behind? To take the fall for the Hawkes so they could all escape? Or was he as much of a coward as he often suspected he was?

He’d never have the chance to learn the answer.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

* * *

 

Varric didn’t finish his letters until well past supper, which meant that it was too late in the day to send off any messenger birds. He looked at the small bundle of missives with their varied addresses; Aveline and Sebastian would have theirs first, most likely, since they remained in one spot. Rivaini could be anywhere at the moment, so she wouldn’t find hers until she stopped at the designated drop-off. Merrill’s he was sending to her little house in the Kirkwall alienage, but he wasn’t entirely sure how often she went there. Fenris... he really had no idea when he could expect the elf to get his letter. With Gamlen gone, and Charade untraceable, there were no known relatives to contact. These five letters, plus himself, represented all that Sunshine had of family anymore.

Aveline’s was definitely the most difficult, but that didn’t make the others easy. Varric was never certain just how much Merrill reciprocated Carver’s very obvious infatuation, but she had never been as oblivious to it as she sometimes pretended to be. The best thing that could happen to her now was what he’d suggested in Isabela’s letter – that the lady pirate should put anchor in Kirkwall harbor for a couple of hours, swoop into the alienage, and scoop up the little blood mage for safekeeping. Fenris, too, would take the news hard, in his own weird way. Maybe he’d finally accept Sebastian’s offer of a place in the Starkhaven army, if only so he could feel like he belonged _somewhere_.

With a sigh, he gathered them in his hands and made his way to Josephine’s office. “Sorry to disturb you, Ruffles,” he said, “but if you could have these sent out for me in the morning, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course, Varric.” Her face held nothing but sympathy; he was, in a way, tired of sympathy. Not ungrateful, just tired. “We didn’t see you at dinner, please see that you eat something when you’re ready.”

“I will.” He paused. “Did Bethany get anything?”

“She’s still in her room; we were uncertain about whether to disturb her. But I imagine you could gain admittance even if anyone else could not – perhaps you could take something up for both of you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

From Josephine’s office it wasn’t difficult to go down the steep stairs leading to the lower level, and through the door to the kitchen, where a three-colored cat blinked at him from her resting place beneath the prep table. The cook had retired for the night, but the loaves for breakfast were on the rise. Drying herbs dangled from the rafters, spindly brooms leaned in a corner, and one shelf was covered with haphazard notes and recipe sheets. The whole place had a heavy smell, like carrots and potatoes and salted meat had sat too long in the stew. The cauldron was still on the fire, and a few minutes later he had arranged two bowls of the stuff on a tray with a couple slices of bread and cheese. Bethany had a wine cask in her room, and goblets, which would do for washing down the whole thing.

It would all probably just sit as miserable lumps in their stomachs, like every other meal they had taken since That Day, but the Inquisitor needed her strength.

The guards gave him a nod, each taking a step to the side away from the door so he could pass. Varric wondered at that, but on balance it made sense; if Bethany had given orders that she wasn’t to be disturbed, and Josephine would have even if Sunshine herself hadn’t, the guards most likely figured that this rule didn’t apply to him. Hopefully she agreed.

“Special delivery for the Inquisitor,” he called, moving to climb the stairs to her little suite.

There was a pause. “Varric?”

“Just me. Is milady decent, or do you want me to wait a few minutes?”

A very tiny chuckle answered him. “No, I’m decent. You can come up.”

He shortly found himself in Bethany’s handsomely appointed room. She wasn’t on the bed, as he’d more or less expected her to be, but was sitting at her desk reviewing papers. “You were sent up here to rest, not to work,” he scolded lightly.

“I did rest. Well, I tried,” she amended. “Eventually I gave up and started looking over these reports. Maybe I just need to focus on the work, for now... there’ll be time enough later for grief, once Corypheus is stopped.”

“I’m not sure it works quite like that, Sunshine.” He waited while she made room on the desk for his tray, then placed it in front of her and went to collect the wine. “I mean, I’m the _last_ person to tell you how you should be dealing with your pain. I’ve never been good at that myself. But I think the longer you put off the process, the worse it’s going to hurt.”

“I’ve been sad for days. That’s long enough,” she replied, and something dangerous flashed in her eyes. “Now I’m angry. And I’m going to make Corypheus _pay_ for taking my brothers away from me. From us.”

“I understand that. Believe me, I do. I just... I don’t know how to protect you from this. Maker knows I would if I could.” He sat down opposite her and gave her a wine goblet. “At least I can get you to eat a little maybe. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“I’ll try.” She nibbled at the cheese. “I’m trying to convince myself that you were right – that they could potentially find a way out. There are rifts all over Thedas, after all. I know it’s a long shot...”

“...but long shots are kind of what we do,” he finished for her.

“Right.”

He watched her swallow a few mouthfuls of stew. “Any good? The cook had already called it a night by the time I got down there, so I had to work with what I could find.”

“It’s edible, I’ll say that.” Her smile was small, but it was there. “It could be worse, I’m sure.”

They ate in silence for a spell; it wasn’t an unpleasant silence, but it was something of a loud one. Varric wiped the rim of his bowl with a piece of the bread, mopping up some stray gravy. “You’re right,” he said at length. “This could definitely be worse. It reminds me a little of the mystery stew at the Hanged Man, which _is_ worse. At least I’m reasonably certain that this is mutton. Or possibly druffalo.”

“This bit here is definitely a piece of potato,” said Bethany, scooping up a lump with her spoon. “And I see a chunk that looks like it’s probably carrot, although I won’t swear to it. It all tastes pretty much the same anyway.”

“Kind of, yeah. That’ll... get better, in time.” He studied her over the rim of his glass. “Anger isn’t a bad thing, Sunshine. It’ll keep you going for a while. And you’ve got plenty of reason to be angry – we’ve all had plenty of reason ever since Haven, but you and I have more reason than most. Just... try not to let it eat you up from the inside, okay? Hawke wouldn’t want this to destroy you. Neither would Junior. And neither do I.”

She sighed. “I’ll try, Varric. That’s all I can promise.”

“That’s all I can ask. We’re going to get each other through this, okay? I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way.”

“I trust you.”

* * *

It took him a little by surprise, but the person with whom Varric found himself discussing Bethany’s situation the most turned out to be Dorian. After a bit of thought, he realized that this wasn’t so strange; Dorian and Bethany had gone together through something terribly unusual and unusually terrible, and it had bonded them. Moreover, unlike either Bethany or Varric, Sparkler was an only child, and he seemed to be regarding Sunshine as the sister he’d never had. Likely she would find that both helpful and haunting, so Varric made a point of not mentioning it to her.

“She’s different,” Dorian remarked, a day or so after they returned to Skyhold. “Not that I’m criticizing. One could hardly expect her to keep being the same person after an ordeal like that. But I am concerned for her, as I imagine you are.”

“Understatement of the age, Sparkler.” Varric sighed. “I just don’t know what to do for her. This is hard enough on _me_. I’m trying to make her the priority because her loss is greater, but it’s not easy.”

“I imagine not. You both have reason enough for sorrow. I can only relate so much... I don’t believe I’ve ever lost anyone who was as dear to me as the Hawke brothers were to the pair of you.”

“It’s like there’s a hole in the air where Hawke ought to be,” the dwarf mused. That was pretty good; he had to remember to write that down at some point. “Maybe it feels that way because he was here at Skyhold with us before the siege, but I keep looking over my shoulder and expecting him to be there. I had gotten used to him being absent from my sight – or to being absent from his, however you want to put it – and now she and I both have to learn how to live that way all over again.”

“It’s understandable. I suppose the saving grace,” Dorian mused, “is that you still have each other. Bethany loves you, you know.”

“Sparkler, you say that like it’s unusual,” Varric replied, and he was pleased at how close to normal his tone was. “I’m a charming, handsome rogue with enviable chest hair and a gift for extravagant lies. Everyone loves me.”

“I take exception to ‘everyone,’ but that’s beside the point.” He chuckled, however. “She loves you and right now I expect you’re her chief lifeline. Maker help the girl.”

“It runs both ways.”

Dorian smirked a bit. “Yes, I imagine it does. Well, shall we go and watch her pronounce sentence on that bastard Erimond?”

“Might as well.”

* * *

They were almost too late, however. Erimond was nowhere in sight by the time they got downstairs; instead, Bethany was passing a compassionate judgment on Ser Ruth, a Grey Warden who had surrendered herself to the Inquisition out of despair over her actions. Urged to turn her suicidal impulses into a campaign of good works, the woman left the hall looking almost dazed. “What happened?” Varric asked Cullen, who was watching from the sidelines. “Where’s the greasy one?”

“Magister Erimond is on his way to our execution platform,” Cullen replied.

“...okay, first of all, why do we have one of those?”

“For instances like this, I suppose.” The commander shrugged lightly, and Varric felt a small thrill of horror.

“Wait. Are you telling me she’s planning to execute him _herself_?”

“Well, that is... traditional,” came the hesitant response. “She issued the sentence, after all. It’s within her rights to carry it out.”

Varric glanced at the throne, where Bethany was conferring with Josephine in quiet tones. She looked haggard, her pale face almost sickly, and although it was difficult to tell from where Varric was standing, he imagined that her eyes were dull with all manner of emotions that were doubtless inconvenient for her position. “Curly, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Stall the Inquisitor.”

“Wh–”

Before Cullen could properly form the question, Varric left the hall. He didn’t generally carry Bianca while on Skyhold grounds, so he had to move quickly in order to get back to his room to retrieve her. “I need your help, baby,” he told her, scooping her up and heading for the execution scene. It wasn’t hard to find; most of the castle population seemed to be moving in one direction. Erimond was already there, on his knees with his hands bound behind his back. Varric studied the area, then made his way as casually as possible to a nearby staircase that would lead to the ramparts. Kneeling down behind one of the stone crenellations, he peered around the edge to judge the angle.

“It’s like this,” he continued quietly, slotting a fresh bolt into position. “Sunshine wants that piece of slime wiped off the earth, and I don’t blame her. But you didn’t see her face. She’s hurting way too badly for this – and a lot of it’s this weasel’s fault, so I understand why she wants to be the one to take off his head, but I just can’t let her do it. I’m not sure she’s strong enough to actually cut through his neck, and even if she is, I don’t think I trust her aim right now. So you and I, we’ll just take that off her plate before she can argue.” He hefted the crossbow carefully, lining up the shot with utmost precision and checking the wind. “It’s not gonna cost us anything to make this shot. It might cost her everything to swing that sword.”

Bianca was thoroughly agreeable to his plan. He sighted intently along the barrel, feeling like this might just be the most important shot he’d ever make. One gloved finger squeezed the trigger, and the bolt released, sailing down over the heads of the assembled and into the unarmored chest of the defiant magister. Erimond seemed to give a little huff of surprise (it was difficult to tell from such a distance) and his eyes were wide as he toppled over on his side. As assassinations went, it was a masterwork. “That’s my girl. Thank you, baby.”

The watching crowd immediately began to buzz with astonishment and speculation, but Varric didn’t stick around to try to make out any of the words. He had an appointment to keep with one of Cabot’s bar stools.


	16. I Sent Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qunari dreadnoughts and ball preparations. Varric's not sure which is weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am so very gratified by the response to this story. There is a reason I've done a lot of the things I've done - it'll make sense eventually. In the meantime, let's get ready for that ball.

Varric honestly expected _some_ kind of reaction to Erimond’s fate. After all, there weren’t many crossbows in the Inquisition in general – in fact, as far as he’d personally witnessed, there was only one. Anybody who thought about it for five seconds or so would be able to figure out just who had stolen the kill from the Inquisitor, and Cullen at the very least should have worked it out from the circumstances. He therefore fully expected to either be thanked, congratulated, teased, or (possibly) condemned for the act.

As it turned out, he was none of these.

No one said a word to him. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe Bethany asked them to keep quiet about it; that seemed like something she might do. She said nothing where he could hear it, but the next time he saw her, she merely looked at him for a long moment with something that was almost a smile playing about her lips. Varric almost brought it up himself, but something stopped him, and he just returned the almost-smile and let her get on with her day.

She knew what he’d done. And she seemed to understand why he’d done it. That was really all that mattered to him.

* * *

There were flowers being delivered to Bethany’s room.

Normally, this might have escaped Varric’s notice; he paid attention to a lot of things, of course, but flowers didn’t usually catch his eye. However, when they were carried through the fortress he was in the great hall, reading a reply from Aveline. That she’d received her letter first, and replied immediately, didn’t surprise him.

 _I’m not entirely sure if I’m supposed to send condolences or expect them for myself,_ she wrote. _A little of both, I fancy, but I’m sure you understand that better than anybody. I’ll send a separate note for Bethany, who is probably hurting as much as you and I put together. I know you’ll do everything you can to look after her, now more than ever. I’m counting on you, Varric. You take care of Hawke’s sister, and I’ll take care of his city. It’s all we can do for him or Carver._

He sighed, and put down the sheet of paper, feeling a heavy ache in his chest. It was at that moment that the assortment of flowers was carried past his line of sight and to the Inquisitor’s door. Distracted from his own thoughts, he watched curiously as the woman carrying the gift was granted entrance and disappeared from sight. This warranted some investigation, he decided, and his boots soon carried him into Josephine’s office.

The ambassador had her head down as usual, eyes on her paperwork. “Hope I’m not interrupting, Ruffles,” he said pleasantly. “But I noticed a bunch of garden stuff being toted up to the boss’s room and I just wondered if you knew who sent it all.”

“Hm? Oh, Varric!” Josephine looked up with a start, having evidently been focused on her writing. “My apologies. Yes, I made the arrangements for the floral delivery – was there anything wrong with it? Did it look all right?”

“Oh, no, it looked fine. I mean, I don’t know a lot about flowers, but I didn’t catch sight of anything wrong,” he assured her. “It was a nice gesture. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

“Under the circumstances, it seemed appropriate. Flowers of mourning are a traditional gift.” Her uncertain smile made Varric wonder if there was more to the flowers than that, but it seemed unlikely. Even if Josephine had any sort of inclinations in that vein, she had too much delicacy to put them forward at a time like this. Still, it might be something to remember later.

* * *

Losing Hawke and Junior couldn’t stop the world from going on its merry way, even if it felt like it should. That the others would try to make things easier on himself and Bethany didn’t surprise Varric; they were decent sorts, after all. One had to be at least a reasonably decent sort to be in the Inquisition and actually mean it. However, the longer it endured, the more awkward it seemed to feel.

Cassandra, in sympathy to his loss, was endeavoring to be kinder to Varric; he found it more peculiar than comforting, although he guessed he couldn’t fault her for trying. “About Hawke,” she began, finally finding the words to speak to him after breakfast one morning.

“Don’t, Seeker. Just don’t.”

“But... what about your friends? Do they know?” She hadn’t called them _friends_ until this – they were his _Kirkwall associates._ The change was not lost on him.

“They know. I sent letters. Look, your elf is waiting for you, go enjoy some quiet together while it lasts.”

Of more importance to him was her increased kindness to Bethany. The two women had, ever since he presented the Seeker with the ending of _Swords and Shields_ at Sunshine’s behest, been developing more and more of an accord. Now they had something awful in common – they had both lost their brothers – and the older woman had dropped any lingering resentment out of compassion. He approved of that.

Cole did too. “Is she crying? Can she breathe?” he asked, appearing randomly on Varric’s table while the dwarf was forcing himself to deal with some bills. “I couldn’t breathe. Pain twists, but for which?”

“Who’s this, Kid?”

“Cassandra. She remembers how it hurt when her brother died.”

Varric hesitated. “You can’t... heal her pain, can you? Either of them?”

“Not this kind. Voices sing, but the hawks have flown away and cannot hear them. Standing by the door, legs stuck. I shouldn’t be here.” He shook his head. “Suffering, sadness, a sorrow without end. Like yours. There’s nothing I can do for any of you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I know... I know you would, if you could.”

“Yes.”

* * *

The ball was looming. A tailor was brought from Val Royeaux, probably somebody the Iron Lady recommended, to measure them all and fit them into red and blue uniforms. No masks, at least, which was something. “We are the Inquisition,” Josephine explained. “Chantry officials don’t wear masks, even in Orlais, and neither shall we.”

Varric didn’t care too much about what Chantry officials did with regards to courtly protocol, but he was happy enough not to wear a mask. They never looked right on dwarves, which was probably why dwarves almost never wore them. “Who designed this monkey suit?” he asked Cullen; they were being fitted at the same time.

“I don’t know, but I already want this to be over.”

“My collar’s too tight.”

“My jacket needs to be let out.”

“This material itches.”

“Oh, doesn’t it just?”

“And you can’t even see my chest hair!”

There was a pause, and then they both laughed. “We probably shouldn’t complain too much,” Curly said. “I can only imagine how the Iron Bull must feel about it.”

“At least it buttons down the front,” Varric noted. “He won’t have to try to pull it over his head. He told me once that the Qunari actually have a word for getting their horns tangled in their clothing.”

“Speaking of the Iron Bull,” said Leliana, making a well-timed entrance as she so often did, “he has some new intelligence for us. The Qunari are reaching out to the Inquisition to form a genuine alliance, and he, the Chargers, and the Inquisitor are to go to the Storm Coast to cement it.”

“When did this happen?” Varric turned his head to look at her in surprise, and was rewarded by being stabbed in the throat with a pin. “Ow!”

“Stop moving!” the tailor hissed.

“About an hour ago. He apologized to Bethany for the timing – it wasn’t something he could help,” Nightingale noted. “The Qunari have uncovered a massive red lyrium shipping operation on the Coast, and they want to work with the Inquisitor to shut it down. A small group, so the smugglers don’t see anyone coming. I’m sure Bethany will be speaking to you about going with her, Varric.”

“Probably, but this is a little weird,” he replied. “I thought the Qunari didn’t ally themselves with anybody, officially.”

“No, they normally don’t. This is a first, Bull says. It could be a valuable shift in politics for all of Thedas if it goes well.”

* * *

It did not go well.

It started decently enough. Bethany and her friends were introduced to Gatt, a green-eyed elf in leaf-patterned armor, whom Bull had known for a long time. He was friendly and respectful, although it clearly irritated Bull that Gatt kept calling him “Hissrad,” which was his title under the Qun. (Apparently it meant, essentially, “liar.” Even Varric, self-proclaimed liar though he was, could see why this would annoy someone.) Gatt’s own name, or title, or whatever, was short for _gaatlok_ – Qunari explosive stuff – because of his volatile temper. He also talked about the Qun giving him a decent life after he was rescued from slavery in Tevinter at the age of eight.

“Yes, one free from all that pointless free will and independent thought,” Dorian snarked. “Such an improvement.”

“Arguing about the war between your two nations isn’t going to help anyone right now,” said Sunshine, trying to be diplomatic.

“I’m not here to convert anyone,” Gatt promised. “All I care about is stopping this red lyrium from reaching Minrathous.”

“With this stuff, the Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks,” Bull added grimly. “We could lose Seheron, _and_ see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.” The curl of his scarred lips betrayed just how upset he was by the notion.

“The Ben-Hassrath agree. That’s why we’re here,” said Gatt. “Our dreadnought is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship.”

“What do you think, Bull?” asked Bethany.

He grunted. “Don’t know. I’ve never liked covering a dreadnought run – too many ways for crap to go wrong.”

“Such as?”

“If our scouts underestimate the number of enemies, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It’s risky.”

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt challenged him.

After a few more questions and some brief hesitation, the Inquisitor conceded to the plan. Gatt explained that there were two Venatori encampments, and they essentially needed to be taken out simultaneously so that neither could alert the other. He, Bull, Bethany, Varric, Dorian, and Blackwall went one way; Krem and the Chargers went the other. There were plenty of Venatori who needed killing, which was something on which they could all agree.

Sunshine’s group took on the main encampment, according to Gatt’s information. Once these were wiped out, Gatt lit the signal fire, sending a red spark into the air to tell the dreadnought to approach. It came in, bombing the tar out of the smuggler ship, and all seemed well.

“Crap,” said Bull.

He was looking down at the lower hill, where the Chargers were awaiting orders. A large, unexpected contingent of Venatori were approaching them from below, and though the Chargers immediately moved to intercept the threat, it was obvious to everyone that they were horribly outnumbered. “The Chargers can’t stand against that kind of force,” said Bethany in a soft, panicked voice.

“No. They can’t.” Bull sounded sick.

“Your men have to hold their position, Bull,” said Gatt.

“They do that, they’re dead.”

“And if they _don’t_ , the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead!”

This was as much as Varric could hear, since their voices dropped and were drowned out by the roar of the surf and the clang of the dreadnought. But a moment later, Bull was blowing a horn, and the Chargers were walking away from their post, and shortly thereafter, they could see the Venatori making fire rain down upon the dreadnought. It exploded rather spectacularly. Varric couldn’t hear Gatt over the roar of the devastation, but he could see that the elf was in a rage, more or less; instinctively he reached for Bianca, because if Gatt made one wrong move toward Bethany there was going to be a problem. But after a few more words, which seemed to be largely directed at Bull, he just stormed away.

It was an awkward trek back to Skyhold. Bull didn’t want to talk, so Varric tried to keep the others distracted with a mostly true story about one of his brother Bartrand’s less self-destructive adventures in moneygrubbing. He wanted to give Bull the space he needed; after recent events, the dwarf understood all too well how it felt to struggle under the weight of something that couldn’t be healed by talking.

* * *

Gatt put in one more appearance at Skyhold, later, informing Bethany that there would be no alliance between the Qunari and the Inquisition, while also informing Bull that he’d been kicked out of the Qun. Varric wasn’t on hand for that conversation, nor for the formal attempt on Bull’s life which followed a couple of days afterward, but the Inquisitor told him all about it.

“He made the right choice,” said Varric. “I’ll tell him that to his face, too.”

“I’m sure it will help. I think he feels very... sad, now.” Bethany took a long drink of her tea; they were in her suite again. She’d been trying to carve out an hour or so each day where they could sit by themselves and talk, just the two of them. Varric wasn’t sure if it was more for her own benefit or his, but it probably didn’t matter. “He grew up under the Qun, it’s all he’s ever known. But he told me that ‘no matter what I regret, this is where I want to be.’ We have to trust him on that.”

“Honestly, if I didn’t trust him before this, I do now,” Varric admitted. “You and I are too familiar with Qunari for me to have been completely comfortable with him up to this point. But it sounds like his priorities are exactly where they should be.”

Sunshine nodded. “That’s more or less my feeling too. The way Gatt talked about the Qun, and the way Bull himself did for that matter... it sounds like it can be a good life for some people. But I don’t feel like he’s one of them.”

“I’m not sure who would be. Well, Gatt did say he’d been a child slave, so I guess almost anything looks good compared to _that_ ,” he allowed. “How did the council respond to the alliance falling through?”

“Well, Cullen remembers their time in Kirkwall as well as you and I do, so he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about it in the first place,” she replied. She tucked a lemon slice into the bottom of her now-empty cup and dusted it with a thin layer of sugar before reaching for the teapot. “Josephine was probably the most dismayed, but when I explained about the choice Bull had to make, she understood. Leliana seemed like she already knew what had happened, but let’s be realistic, she probably did. Those birds of hers are everywhere.”

“You’re not kidding. I think she’s the only person I know who scares me more than Aveline,” Varric noted. “Is it a redheaded thing? Maybe that’s why Bull is such a fan of redheads.”

“You know, that _would_ make sense,” Bethany remarked thoughtfully. “I hadn’t looked at it from that angle – well, I don’t think I looked at it from any angle really – but you may be right.”

“I’m always right. And when I’m not, I lie about it.”

She smiled faintly. “Meanwhile, there’s this ball.”

“Ah yes, the dreaded Winter Palace extravaganza. I hope they’re not serving snails, my loyalty to the Inquisition goes only so far.” He shuddered a bit.

“I’m more worried about being on display in front of all those people,” Bethany admitted. “I’ve dreamed about attending a party thrown by Empress Celene for as long as I can remember – but I always thought it would happen because I was the Champion’s sister, or because you sneaked me in with you, or something like that. Not as _the Inquisitor_.”

“I see your point. On the bright side, what they’ve decided we should wear shouldn’t kill too many people with envy, even when you wear it.”

“Flatterer.” She smiled, however. “I’m nervous. You know it’s going to be awkward if I don’t dance.”

“Why wouldn’t you dance?”

“I don’t know how!”

Varric blinked. True, he didn’t imagine Bethany had been given too many dancing lessons during the handful of years she’d spent in the Gallows, and growing up in the Fereldan farmlands probably didn’t require much in the way of social graces. But prior to the Conclave, she’d been in the Starkhaven royal court. “Really? All those months in Choirboy’s house and you didn’t dance at all?”

“A little. I can do a Marcher step well enough to get by,” she amended. “Sebastian was a little too busy getting Starkhaven back in order to throw very many parties, but there were one or two small fetes in honor of local holidays. That was fine. But this is Orlais, and I _know_ I don’t know how to do a proper Imperial court dance.”

“Oh, I see.” He picked up his teacup and studied the dregs. Isabela had once told him that the mystic women in Rivain, hedge witches or whatever they were called, could read someone’s fortune in the nasty bits of sludge left over when they finished a cup of tea. All he could see was what Hawke might have called a series of blorps. He was evidently destined for either a very murky or a very blorpy future; with that in mind, he returned the cup to its saucer. “So... what I hear you saying is that you want someone to teach you. Well, I think I could free up my schedule.”

“I – you know how to do Imperial court dances?”

“It’s a Merchants’ Guild thing,” he explained, sounding as disgruntled by the notion as he felt. “We have to keep on top of shit like this so we don’t accidentally offend potential trading partners. I don’t usually end up needing the dance knowledge, but I figure that anything I don’t use personally will work into a book sometime. Or, in this case, help the Inquisitor make a good showing at a ball.”

Bethany looked equal parts doubtful and hopeful. “And you really think you could teach me?”

“You’ve already invented a time when we’re alone up here every day,” he reminded her. “Granted, I wouldn’t _normally_ attempt to teach this to a human. A lot of you are so gangly and awkward that I’d feel like I was wasting my time. But you – I think you can do it. Sometimes I think of you as just being an unusually tall dwarf.”

“I... am going to take that as a compliment,” she decided.

* * *

They waited until the next day to get started, by which time Varric had combed Skyhold in search of a source of music. Maryden, the lady bard who alternately entertained and annoyed the patrons of the Herald’s Rest tavern, was one option; she seemed a little busy, though. Fortunately, he stumbled upon one of the more peculiar agents of the Inquisition, who had come back to Skyhold between away missions, and for a suitable pile of gold he enticed this individual to perform privately for the Inquisitor.

ZITHER! – Varric couldn’t believe he was talking to someone who actually spelled his name with an exclamation point – was a former celebrity in Orlais, so he of course knew the correct music to play for the dance in question. He was also a mage of some stripe, with his lute substituting for a staff, and his reason for joining the Inquisition was actually quite personal. “My drummer was at the Conclave. I think he exploded.”

“Ah. Sorry about your friend... that was a bad day for a lot of people. Is that going to be enough payment for you to play for us every day this week?”

“Plenty! I’ll use it to commission a doublet I’ve been wanting – silk, studded with Serault glass crystals.” He might have been beaming; it was a little hard to tell with the mask in the way. “It will say ZITHER! across the back.”

“Sounds like such stuff as dreams are made of. All right, let’s go meet up with the Inquisitor.”

Bethany still looked a little dubious, and even more dubious when she saw their musician, but she submitted to the plan without comment. “All right, doublet boy,” Varric said, pointing at a corner, “you set up here. Sunshine, help me move the furniture a little bit so we have enough room.”

The dance began simply enough. Varric stood facing the marvelous Serault glass doors leading to the southern balcony, and raised both arms; Bethany, standing to his right, did likewise, and he took her hand lightly. As the music began, he started to instruct her. “Step forward once, then again – big, sweeping steps, like those weird scrub brush demons.”

“Oh, there’s an image,” she retorted, obeying. “Dancing with a demon.”

“Stranger things have happened, let’s be honest. We step forward like this about ten times – you have to be aware of the other dancers, because if the floor is crowded it’ll be fewer than that,” he warned her. “We don’t have the space for it here, so we’ll go with five. Now turn toward me, and give me a nice big elegant bow.” He demonstrated.

“Varric, this is _ridiculous_.”

“Of course it is, Sunshine. It’s _Orlais_. Ridiculous is the national pastime.”

* * *

The dance lessons continued daily for the next week and a half. It reached a point where Varric probably could have done the steps in his sleep, even without ZITHER! providing accompaniment. Clasp hands, step forward a bunch of times, foppish bow. Straighten and press left palms together, do a half circle around each other, then spin to press right palms together and go back the other way. Pass Bethany under his right arm (tricky but not impossible, given the small height difference), put his right arm across her back and hold her left hand in his for two steps forward. Turn her to face him and waltz around the room, occasionally parting to do more eye-catching twirls. Sometimes the waltz went to the right, sometimes to the left; as he advised Bethany, it largely depended on where other couples were and how much they were in your way.

The day before they were to leave for the palace, they gave it one last run. This being their final practice, Varric slipped in the one step he hadn’t included in previous lessons. “Might happen, might not happen, depends on your partner,” he said, “and on how much room you have for such a thing. But...” As the music swelled to its final crescendo, he pulled out of the waltz step and, with a flourish (and more than a little relief that he didn’t drop her), swept Bethany downward in a fanciful sort of dip. The ends of her hair brushed against the green and gold carpeting below her head.

“Varric!” She hung suspended in his grip for a few endless seconds and then, abruptly, she burst out laughing. He couldn’t help grinning himself.

“You know, that’s the first time you’ve laughed in weeks.”

“It’s... it’s the first time I’ve _felt_ like laughing in weeks,” she admitted. “Oh – thank you, Varric.” A little clumsily, she managed to hug him around the neck even while still dipped.

His own feelings were a muddle of delighted and sad. “There’s my Sunshine,” he replied, patting her back gently.


	17. Writes Better Fiction Than I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halamshiral... but not what you might be expecting.

The Winter Palace was... well, palatial. Varric found it rather a bit too ornamental and overly fussy for his tastes, but that was Orlais in a nutshell. There were a lot of gold statues festooned with red silk ribbons, and a lot of humans wandering around in voluminous floof and fripperies. He did allow that the fountains in the entrance garden were nice; these were mostly stone, of a sort that reminded him of Hightown.

He tugged irritably at his collar as he watched the scene in the ballroom. Bethany had submitted without complaint to Josephine’s plans for these red and blue ensembles, though she had admitted privately to Varric that she would have rather had a pretty dress. The costumes actually weren’t _terrible_ , or at least not in the same way that a lot of what other people were wearing was terrible; they weren’t overly fussy and they presented a sense of unity and style and whatever. They just weren’t much fun to wear.

A small contingent of Inquisition soldiers had preceded their leader into the entrance gardens, where she was met by Grand Duke Gaspard. Varric didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to politics in general, but even he knew that Empress Celene’s cousin had a long-standing grudge against her for more or less stealing his claim to the throne after their uncle Florian was unseated. Like most Orlesian history, the whole thing was a bloody, tangled, confusing mess. Gaspard was a soldier, a chevalier more specifically, with a strong code of honor; it was one of his better traits, probably. All Varric could say about him for certain was that he was a well-built human in his sixties, wearing a shiny gold mask with an oddly pointy nose. He made some pleasant overtures toward Bethany, who returned them with her usual graciousness, and also gave her some information about what she might consider investigating while she enjoyed the ball.

From there they all trooped inside, where a court herald was put through his paces. “And now presenting Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and accompanying him... Lady Inquisitor Bethany Leandra Hawke, senior enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi, sister to the Champion of Kirkwall, granddaughter of Lord Aristide Amell of Kirkwall, vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground, champion of the blessed Andraste Herself!”

“This guy writes better fiction than I do,” Varric noted dryly, watching Bethany descend the elegant staircase and bow to the Empress. He did feel a little sorry for the herald, however, having to announce all twelve of Bethany’s ‘inner circle’ members individually – especially when he tried to list _all_ of Cassandra’s lengthy string of names and got cut off after just five. At the rate he was going, the guy was going to need, and deserve, a couple stiff drinks when he was finished yelling names.

None of the Inquisitor’s companions went with her to be formally presented to the Empress, although the three advisors did. Varric, watching from a distance, couldn’t hear any of what was said, but he did see Bethany bow a second time before following her war council away from the proceedings. The hunt for the would-be assassin would be starting soon, and the companions moved to take up position throughout the palace, watching for anything suspicious and awaiting Bethany’s signal.

* * *

Spending most of the ball trapped in the Council of Heralds’ Chamber was not what Varric had in mind.

He had fully intended that he, with Bianca firmly in his hands, would accompany the Inquisitor on her search. Instead, much to his chagrin, he found himself stuck below stairs in an antechamber which was almost inaccessible. But what really astonished him was _why_ he was there.

“Messere Tethras, I must tell you,” said a man who was introduced to him as Duke Cyril de Montfort, “ _Hard in Hightown_ was simply the most exciting book of its season!”

“...it was?” He was frankly shocked that Duke Cyril would even speak to him, considering where Varric was when the man’s father died. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t care.

“The entire Council of Heralds is simply dying to meet you, ser! Do come with me, won’t you? Ever since we learned you would be accompanying the Lady Inquisitor, we’ve all been hoping to get your autograph!”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Bethany was nowhere in sight, so he had to settle for advising Leliana of his whereabouts (though it probably wasn’t necessary, since she always seemed to know everything anyway) before allowing the Duke to bring him to the Council chamber. It was full of humans, of course; dwarves weren’t all that common in Orlais in the first instance, except in the marketplaces, and they certainly didn’t hold positions on the Council of Heralds. Between the height difference and the masks, he was having difficulty telling one council member from another.

“I take you to bed every night, Messere Tethras,” one woman teased him. “I simply adore _The Tale of the Champion_ – it’s spellbinding. Can all of those stories really be true? Can one man have done so much?”

“All true, madam. But I can’t fault your skepticism,” he said. “I was there for most of it and even I have trouble believing it sometimes.”

“And the Inquisitor is the Champion’s sister, is that not so?” asked somebody else with a shiny gold nose on his mask. “I think I heard the herald announce her as such. I had the pleasure of meeting her upstairs. She seems a charming young woman.”

“That’s right. Bethany is the youngest Hawke – only by minutes,” Varric amended. “Carver, who became a Grey Warden, is her twin.” He hesitated. “Was.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Duke Cyril (whom Varric actually _could_ recognize apart from the others, mostly due to the strange brooch he wore) shook his head regretfully. “Word did reach us of the Hawke brothers’ noble sacrifice at Adamant Fortress. Forgive our thoughtlessness, messere, and accept our condolences for the loss.”

“Thanks. It’s...” Varric couldn’t make himself say _it’s all right_ , but he tried. “It’s a hard thing to accept. But I wasn’t completely surprised. They were two of the bravest men I ever met, and either of them would have done anything for their sister.” It felt strange to be so honest. Eager to shift the topic of conversation away from the Hawke boys, he looked around the room. “If anyone has a quill,” he said, “Duke Cyril tells me my autograph is in demand.”

It worked for a little while – long enough for him to dislodge the lump in his throat, at least, which was all he could ask. Eventually the questions resumed, mostly about _Hard in Hightown_. That was a much safer topic; Varric was always willing to talk about his published works, especially when it helped him avoid talking about something else.

Was Donnen Brennokovic based on a real person? “Well, everyone I meet has at least a little influence on my characters. I was acquainted with a lot of the guards in Kirkwall, so they’re all in there to an extent.”

Why did he describe the _Dragon’s Jewels_ the way he did? “Ah, ‘the greatest boat in the history of boats.’ Basically, I just wanted to give the impression that the ship was so amazing that even the narrator was at a loss for how to describe it.”

What about the sequels? “I hope you didn’t spend money on those, madam. They were the work of a plagiarist – he’s since been apprehended on a related charge. I promise that if and when _I_ publish a real sequel to _Hard in Hightown_ , the spelling will be correct and the title will make sense.”

After a while, people who had drifted out of the chamber came back with news from the rest of the ball. “I heard some of the servants talking,” one of them muttered to another, and Varric strained his ears to eavesdrop. “Dead bodies in some of the upstairs corridors!”

“Maker’s breath! How will they ever get the blood off the tiles?”

 ** _That’s_** _your major concern?_ he thought, baffled. Sometimes, Varric thought maybe he was more ill-disposed toward Orlesians than they deserved, and then he’d hear something like that and decide that no, he really wasn’t. As to the dead bodies, he wasn’t exceptionally worried; if it had been their people, he was reasonably certain that Leliana would have sent someone to get him. All the same, he found himself wanting to set eyes on Bethany for a minute or two, just to make sure she was all right.

“Could you all excuse me for a moment?” he asked. “I’m parched, I want to step upstairs and get a drink.”

“Martine can bring you whatever you wish,” replied one of the men, gesturing to a nearby attendant. “Martine! Fetch Messere Tethras a drink, _tout suite._ What will you have, ser?”

“Uh... whiskey, I guess. Or brandy. Whatever’s closest.” Andraste’s ass, were they ever going to let him leave? He thanked the girl for the glass she handed him a moment later, and knocked back the spirit without really looking to see what it was. The burning in his throat suggested whiskey, but the aftertaste was definitely closer to Antivan brandy, and he wondered briefly how she’d managed to get both requests into one drink.

There were more rounds of questions to be endured. The ones about his books he didn’t mind; the personal questions were harder to swallow, and the answers he gave in his mind were nothing like the ones he actually let slip from his mouth.

“Is it enjoyable to be the head of a noble house in dwarven society?” _Oh, it’s a delight. Especially the part where I had to kill my brother for the position, because he lost his mind and couldn’t do it himself._ “I don’t think ‘enjoyable’ is the word I would choose, but it’s certainly never dull.”

“How is it that you’re not married yet, messere?” _Well, do you want to hear the details of how my last girlfriend asked me to elope with her and then didn’t show up and married someone else? Because that’s a big part of the reason._ “I hate to rush into things. If I’m not married by the time I’m fifty, madam, I’ll be sure to send you a letter.” He half expected to be tossed out on his ear for that one, but to his astonishment, she tittered like a schoolgirl and seemed to find the comment endearing. _Sunshine, get me out of here._

* * *

Finally, the chance to escape arrived. The peace talks concluded and the Empress was preparing to address her guests, so everybody trooped upstairs to the ballroom and Varric lost absolutely no time putting space between himself and the members of the Council of Heralds. He caught sight of Bethany, clad not in Skyhold regimentals but in her silverite-accented mage armor, talking to Cullen; he looked concerned, almost grave, and gave her a pat on the shoulder before rushing off to who knew where. Her back was to Varric, so he couldn’t see her face as she bustled away in a different direction, but something in her posture told him that _things_ were about to happen. Feeling a twist of anxiety deep in his stomach, he set off in pursuit.

Before he could catch up to her, however, she was at the far end of the ballroom. He couldn’t properly hear the words, but he could catch their general meaning from the gasps of astonishment around him; she was confronting the Grand Duchess Florianne, cousin to the Empress and sister to Grand Duke Gaspard. _It was Celene’s other cousin the whole time? How did she even figure that out? Sunshine, sometimes I really don’t give you enough credit._

He watched from a distance as she followed the Empress, the Grand Duke, and some olive-skinned elf woman out onto an exterior balcony. Before they returned, a new figure presented himself at Varric’s side, and he glanced up in fear of being accosted by another noble reader. Instead, to his relief, it was only Dorian.

“And just where have you been all evening, my hirsute little friend?” asked the Altus. “You’ve missed all the excitement!”

“The Council of Heralds was holding me hostage in their secret underground meeting room and trying to get me to give them spoilers for my next book.” The funniest part was that it was more or less true. “Just what _has_ happened? I only heard a couple of mumblings about dead bodies and stuff.”

“It’s been interesting, I’ll say that much. Your precious ray of Sunshine had us on quite the hunt through the palace.” Sparkler shook his head. “Venatori, a rift in the courtyard, and Bethany dancing with the Grand Duchess – I would almost suspect the wine of going to my head, but it hasn’t done that in years.”

“So, the Empress’s own cousin was the one who planned to kill her. Got to admit, I didn’t see that coming. Is everybody okay? Our people, I mean?”

“As far as I’m aware, our side took no serious injuries. I can speak to there being fewer Venatori in existence, but I think we can all agree that’s no very bad news. I’m also given to understand that our dashing Commander has been subject to a number of untoward advances from some of the courtiers who weren’t badgering you; I suspect he’s grateful to have the difficulties over, as it means he can hide somewhere until we’re ready to go back to Skyhold.”

Varric snorted. “Curly’s too pretty for his own good. His girlfriend’s here somewhere on guard duty, I bet she’ll find that funnier than he does. Oh, here they come.” He nodded at the Empress, who was returning to her guests and followed by Bethany and the elf woman; the Grand Duke was not in evidence. Maybe he’d been complicit in his sister’s scheme, who knew. For his part, Varric didn’t really care who was parked on the throne, as long as they didn’t do anything stupid while they were sitting there.

He only half-listened to Celene’s speech. He got the gist of it; she owed her life to the Inquisitor, the elf woman Briala was now to be called Marquess of the Dales, and Orlesian forces would aid the Inquisition in the fight against Corypheus. As important as that last bit was, though, Varric’s focus was on Bethany. She looked pale and weary, her smile somewhat forced.

As the cheers of the crowd died down, she bowed again to the Empress, who said something that was apparently only for Bethany’s own ears. Then Celene gestured to her three ladies-in-waiting, and they bustled Bethany away. Turning back to the assembled, the Empress said, “Now, please, resume your enjoyment of the ballroom. We feel certain we can promise no further danger this evening, and so let us celebrate long into the night!”

“Where’d they take her?” Varric wanted to know.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Dorian, frowning. “Perhaps Leliana would have an idea. I believe she’s with Josephine and her sister; she was sort of standing guard over them while the confrontation ensued.”

“Makes sense. Come on, let’s go find them.”

* * *

The three ladies in question were gossiping cheerfully in the vestibule, not far from where Cullen had been standing prior to his joyful escape. “Varric, you finally got away from the Council of Heralds,” Leliana greeted him with a chuckle. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I’m going to wring my publisher’s neck,” he replied pleasantly. “Other than that, sure. Listen, the Empress’s duplicates-in-waiting just took our beloved Inquisitor off someplace, do you know what that’s about?”

“I believe I might,” said Josephine. “I had the chance to converse with the ladies at one point in the evening; they must have passed my remarks on to Her Radiance. They were speaking of their admiration for our dear Lady Hawke, and I mentioned her appreciation of Orlesian fashion. The Empress, if I don’t miss my guess, has instructed her attendants to outfit Bethany in a ballgown for the remainder of the evening.”

“Oh.” Varric was surprised, mostly, though there was also a palpable relief washing over him; the sight of Bethany being spirited off someplace where he couldn’t follow had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. “Well, Sunshine does like pretty dresses. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” He paused. “So that means we’re not getting out of here any time soon, huh?”

“Considering the Inquisitor’s triumph, it would be quite impolitic for us to leave much before midnight,” came the apologetic reply. “An ordinary party in Orlais runs well into the wee hours, and no party thrown by the Empress herself can be regarded as ordinary. One or two of us might slip away unnoticed – but Cullen has already made the first escape, I’m afraid.” Ruffles chuckled. “We must ask your patience for a few hours longer.”

He shrugged. “I’ll live. Now that I’m out of the underground chamber, it won’t be so bad. Readers are great but that was giving me a headache. I think I’ll go find something to eat.”

“Avoid the cheese plate,” Leliana said. Her lips twitched impishly. “Simply terrible. And the ham.”

“Yeah, I don’t eat food that tastes like emotions.”

He really was hungry, which surprised him; since Adamant, he hadn’t had any real appetite, and had mostly been eating and drinking because he knew he should, not because he took much pleasure from it. Now, to his surprise, he was sort of ravenous. Dorian continued to accompany him as he wandered away in search of dinner, so Varric decided to ask him for more information. “Well, what else happened while I was the prisoner of my fans? Anything I should know? I want to get it right when I write about this later.”

“Really, going through it once was bad enough – you would have me rehash the gory details?” Dorian retorted.

“You know you want me to use _your_ version of events.”

“Well, there’s some truth to that, I suppose. It might be better left until after we return to Skyhold, however. The walls of an Orlesian palace are bound to have ears.”

“Hmm. Point taken.”

* * *

A little while later, having eaten and regaled a few listeners with the (somewhat exaggerated) story of the wyvern hunt at Chateau Haine, Varric decided he needed to find the Inquisitor. If Dorian’s information about the evening was reliable, and he had no reason to think it would not be, then she was probably exhausted. Likely he was worried for nothing; but worrying about Hawkes was something he did extremely well, and he only had one left.

There was just one problem: no one seemed to know where she was.

She had returned from being outfitted in the gift dress; he knew that much from overhearing a few admiring comments about how good she looked in blue. Since the Inquisition was in red, it wasn’t hard to extrapolate that she’d been seen in her new dress, and to be fair, blue always had been a good color on Bethany. He vaguely wondered how the Empress had known. But she had avoided the dance floor, spent very little time near the buffet, and wasn’t in the courtyard or the vestibule.

Varric was just about to venture out into the entrance gardens, where they had first been greeted by Grand Duke Gaspard, when he caught sight of the Empress’s mage, the one who wasn’t Vivienne. She came swishing into the vestibule from one of the balconies, the heavy skirt of her gown swaying to and fro as she walked, her expression one of carefully studied calm. He watched her, briefly, then glanced through the doorway from whence she had come and did a double take.

“Hey... there you are,” he said, stepping out into the night air. Bethany was leaning heavily on the stone railing. Her velvet dress almost blended into the evening sky, but for the accents of cream-colored silk, and the lacing looked so tight that he was concerned for her breathing. Someone had pulled her black satin hair back into an only slightly complicated updo.  “Not looking so sunny, Sunshine... are you all right?”

She nodded, slowly. “I’m fine, Varric. I’m just tired. It’s been a very long night.”

“Yeah, I think there’s a lot of that going around.” He crossed the balcony and stood beside her with his back against the rail. A thousand questions jumped into his mind as he studied her, but he didn’t want to badger; she looked ready to slump as it was. “You know, when we get back to Skyhold,” he said instead, “I’m going to be having a few words with my publisher. The first will be ‘you’ and the second will be ‘bastard.’ All these years I’ve been hearing that my books just don’t sell well in Orlais, and here I’ve been mobbed all evening by courtiers wanting my autograph!”

Bethany glanced at him in genuine surprise and, to his profound satisfaction, started to giggle. “Is _that_ why I couldn’t find you?”

“I was practically a hostage! I was ready to try sending a coded message with one of the servants, asking you for a rescue!”

“It’s probably best you didn’t. I was off casting freezing spells at Venatori and saving one of Briala’s people from a Harlequin. You know, I’ve never kicked someone out of a window before; it was strangely satisfying.”

“You’re not going to make it a habit to defenestrate people, are you?”

“Probably not. But it was the best available option at the moment.” She giggled again. “And don’t get me started on discovering the naked man tied to the Empress’s bed. It’s been a very weird experience, Varric.”

“Sounds like it.” He folded his arms, watching her; some of the exhaustion seemed to be melting away from her features. “What’s this I hear about you dancing with the Grand Duchess?”

“Yes, I finally put your lessons to use. She asked me to dance with her so we could talk without being overheard, and she all but pointed the finger at her brother. It was her way of getting me to go to the interior courtyard. I’d like to know how they managed to get a rift in there, unless it just cropped up on its own and that’s why the surrounding corridors were sealed off.” Bethany shook her head. “Either way, it was meant to be a trap.”

“And of course, you sprung the trap without getting caught in it, and then you trapped the Duchess herself in front of the entire crowd. I saw that part.” Varric shook his head, smiling a little. “Not bad for your second Orlesian soiree.”

“Given the choice between hunting a wyvern and hunting a royal assassin, I think I prefer the wyvern.” Bethany sighed and looked up at the night sky. “I’m just glad that’s over.”

“I think we all are. Hey,” he said, more gently, “did you eat anything tonight?”

“Not really, no.”

“Come on. You shouldn’t dance on an empty stomach.”

She laughed at that. It was a small laugh, but it still counted. “I don’t see myself doing too much dancing.”

“Well, you don’t _have_ to dance if you’d rather not, but... seems like a waste of a ballroom. And a ballgown,” he added with a wink. “It’s no burlap sack, of course, but you do improve it.”

Bethany laughed again, stronger this time, and he thought about how much he had missed that sound since Adamant. “I’ll dance if you do, how’s that?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Sunshine. But only if you eat first. Come on.” Varric pushed off from the railing and folded his right arm behind his back; then, with a faintly exaggerated show of decorum, he lifted the left one in an unspoken invitation. She hesitated, as though trying to decide if he was serious, and he half wondered if she would decline. But then she smiled, and laid her hand on his arm, and they went back inside together.


	18. I Don't Have a Nug in This Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-ball gossip sessions are followed by Florianne being judged and a little heart-to-heart for our main duo. The gang also takes down a demon - sorry, choice spirit.

Even in the Inquisition, some truths remained more or less universal, and among these was the fact that nobody has ever been good for much of anything on the day after a ball. Even Josephine, who was always so busy that Varric never could decide if she slept more than two hours at a shot, seemed inclined to be a bit of a layabout the following day.

The Inquisition soldiers (and, by his own preference, Cullen) were housed in a series of tents on the grounds of the Winter Palace. Vivienne had her own suite of rooms in one wing; the Inquisitor herself and the rest of her closest retinue were housed in the wing adjacent. Following an intense period of sleeping late, Vivienne invited Bethany and a few of the other women to join her for afternoon tea and, Varric assumed, gossip. “Be sure to tell me anything good you hear,” he said, when she told him of their plans. “Might be useful for my next book. I’m thinking of doing one set here in Orlais, maybe use the Iron Lady as a pattern for my villain.”

“Somehow, I think she would love that,” Bethany replied. “All right, I’ll be on the alert for anything scurrilous that would make good story fodder.”

Varric himself, meanwhile, went to take up some space in Dorian’s rooms, where Blackwall and the Bull had already settled; the basic plan was Diamondback, and possibly some gossip of their own. Indeed, as he dealt the cards, Blackwall was apparently keen to get started. “Began to think Cullen should have had a bodyguard last night,” he joked. “I counted nine women and six men trying to get him to dance or accept a drink. Poor fellow kept trying to tell them he was taken, but they weren’t listening.”

“The man’s too pretty for his own good,” Dorian replied.

“Wasn’t that redhead of his on guard duty?” Bull wanted to know. “Where was she when all this was happening?”

“Probably in a corner laughing herself sick,” said Varric. “No, more likely they stuck her in a different room or maybe outside. Not a mistake they’ll make again, if I know Curly.”

“What about you, Blackwall?” Dorian asked. “I had rather the impression that a few of the young ladies were terribly interested in the brooding, quiet Grey Warden who sequestered himself in the Hall of Heroes.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” he demurred. “And I wasn’t hiding. There was a great deal to be learned from the plaques on some of those statues – they even have one for the Hero of Ferelden.”

“She saved Ferelden, saved the world,” said Cole, appearing unexpectedly on the canopy of Dorian’s bed. “She married the king and kept Orlais from taking hold. Soft and sweet yet bold and brave, the queen all men would follow. Do I hate her? Even I’m not sure. But I must honor her.”

“Interesting,” said Dorian, fingering his mustache. “So, the Empress has a bit of envy toward the Queen of Ferelden, yet put a statue of the woman in her own Hall of Heroes. She hides it well.”

“And Blackwall preferred reading plaques and looking at statues over dancing with pretty people?” Bull chuckled. “Your loss. There were a _lot_ of pretty people.”

“How could you tell with the masks on?” Dorian interrupted.

“Well, I was also helping the Inquisitor for a large portion of the evening,” Blackwall reminded him, “same as Dorian. _Some_ of us were working.”

“Hey, we couldn’t _all_ leave,” Bull protested. “It would have looked fishy. Besides, I was able to gather a few pieces of intel for Red from where I was standing. Thanks to what I gave her, she says she’ll be able to negotiate with some noble in Val Firmin, to improve our supply caravans out to Griffon Wing Keep.”

“Good man.” Blackwall looked suitably impressed.

“At least you all got to breathe fresh air,” Varric retorted, laying down a card. “I was stuck in the Council of Heralds’ underground torture chamber, I mean meeting room. Between the cloud of tobacco smoke and the lack of understanding of personal space, I was in danger of suffocating.”

“Well, you escaped eventually,” Dorian said. “You were on hand for the big reveal of the assassin’s identity.”

“Yeah, that was something else. I guess nobody could have seen that coming.”

“Speaking of things nobody could have seen coming,” said Bull, with a grin that made Varric suddenly very uneasy, “you and the boss cut quite a rug.”

He shrugged. “Who did you think taught her how to dance?”

“Oh, so that’s how she managed that step with the Duchess,” said Blackwall, tossing a coin at the pile. “I wondered. Not like she has a lot of time for dancing under normal circumstances.”

“Any of you could have asked her, you know,” Varric pointed out. “I’m sure our beloved Inquisitor would have given any of you a turn.”

“But why would we do that when we could enjoy watching the two of you?” Dorian replied teasingly. “It’s lucky you’re so close in height.”

“It made the teaching easier. Like I told her, most of you are too tall and gangly for me to think I could even manage it.”

“Well,” said Blackwall after a few minutes, in which Bull claimed victory in the hand, “she certainly looked elegant in that dress they gave her. Surprised she didn’t get more attention.”

“I’m sure she got plenty of attention – she’s just a little intimidating for some guys, that’s all.” Varric was amused by the smug tone of his own voice.

“But not you, of course,” said Dorian, refilling his glass.

“I’ve known her for about a dozen years at this point. It’d be a little strange if either of us found the other intimidating. Are we playing another hand?”

“Yeah, let me shuffle the deck,” said Bull. “Dorian, where were you all evening? When you weren’t with the boss, I mean.”

“Out in the garden, mostly. Those caprice fountains are actually rather charming,” the mage admitted. “Possibly the least pretentious part of their whole aesthetic. Bethany threw a few coins into the water – Varric, do you know anything about that?”

“Yeah, I learned about it during our caper at Chateau Haine,” he replied, accepting the cards Bull pushed at him. “Orlesian tradition, you collect these special coins called caprices. They’re not real money – they’ve got the Chantry sunburst on one side and the Orlesian lion on the other, and they’re made specifically for tossing into one of those fountains. Hawke told me that his mother had a collection of the things for just such an occasion, but since she eloped with an apostate, there was no chance of her ever being invited to so much as watch a fancy party through the garden gate. So, while we were at the Chateau, and he and the crazy elf were still figuring out how to get inside, he ran around and found a couple of the coins and threw them in the fountain on Leandra’s behalf.” Varric pondered his cards, rearranging them in his grip. “Bethany was probably doing the same thing.”

“That’s rather adorable. Incidentally,” Dorian continued, “those ladies-in-waiting of the Empress were asking me questions about you, Varric. Personal things.”

“Er... how personal?” Varric raised an eyebrow.

“Something about your chest hair, and whether you were currently... involved with anyone.”

“Huh. Creepy.” He was truthfully relieved, however. Those weren’t altogether unusual questions, on the whole, and they could have been a lot more invasive. “I’ll be sure to tell Sunshine. She’ll get a laugh out of that.”

“In all seriousness,” said Blackwall, and his tone was gentler, “is she feeling any better these days? The world asks a lot of our Inquisitor, she hasn’t really had much time to grieve.”

“She’s about as well as can be expected, I guess,” said Varric. “Whatever else you can say about this ball, it gave her a little distraction. She told me a few weeks ago that she’s tired of being sad, so she’s going to be angry instead, and she’s going to make Corypheus pay for all of it.” He shook his head. “I get what she means, but none of you have any idea how strange that was to hear out of her mouth.”

“I imagine she’ll take more pleasure than anyone in bringing an end to his disastrous scheme,” said Dorian. He gave himself a little shake, as though the whole conversation had become too serious for his liking. “Come, are we playing cards or weeping into our tankards? We can be maudlin at another time. Right now, I have coin to win.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Sparkler. All right, I’ll start the betting at five silver.”

* * *

Back at Skyhold, Josephine was about as close to giddy as Varric had ever seen her. “The Grand Duchess will be arriving shortly,” she explained when he finally asked. “The Empress has surrendered her to us, and the Inquisitor will have the responsibility of judging her for her crimes.”

“Really? The Empress didn’t want her head on a pike or whatever?”

“Apparently not. Forgive my amusement, but I am truthfully looking forward to whatever judgment Bethany chooses to render.” She gave him a sort of embarrassed smile. “That is a bit awful of me, I know.”

“Not really.” Varric thought about it a little. “This might actually manage to be sort of funny. Most of the pronouncements she has to make are painful. Like sentencing Erimond to death.”

“Ah, yes. A surprising turn of events, that one,” she noted with a sly sort of chuckle. “Strange how a crossbow bolt was found lodged in his chest before the Inquisitor ever reached the execution block.”

“I was a mostly innocent bystander. I can’t speak for Bianca; what she does in her leisure hours is up to her.” Erimond’s death felt, at this point, like it had been roughly half his lifetime ago instead of a matter of weeks. The whole Adamant mess had done enough to Bethany, stolen more of her peace of mind than anything had a right to do. She still hadn’t said anything to him about the ‘kill steal,’ as Bull might call it. No one had, in fact, until now. He knew that they knew; he just didn’t care.

“As I say, it’s strange,” said Josephine. “I would never have imagined that Bianca could get such chivalrous urges all on her own. She truly is something special.”

“Ruffles, you have no idea.”

He made sure he got a good spot for the judging. Bethany was on the throne as Florianne was marched in, hands bound, still dressed in the weird broad-collared gown she had worn at the ball. She hadn’t eaten much in her captivity, from what gossip he’d overheard, and her collarbone jutted out sharply through her eggshell-white skin; but whether that meant she’d actually lost weight or not he didn’t know, since he’d never gotten a close look at her in the first place. She still wore both her golden mask and a defiant expression beneath it.

Bethany studied her impassively. That always made Varric’s insides twist a bit, and not in a good way; someone who _felt_ as much as Sunshine so often did should be free to express it on her features. Josephine, meanwhile, proceeded with the necessary formalities of introducing the prisoner and stating her crimes, adding that the Empress had gladly turned her over to the Inquisitor for sentencing and that Florianne herself had acknowledged Bethany’s jurisdiction in the matter.

“Have you anything to say for yourself, Grand Duchess?” Bethany asked finally.

“Should I curse you on behalf of the Elder One?” came the disdainful reply. “I realize he had no intention of honoring the concordats I manipulated. Do as you must, Inquisitor.”

“That’s it?”

“I respect your mastery of the Game, even as I despise your victory. Celene does not know her fortune.” Florianne sniffed.

“Hm.” Bethany pursed her lips, leaning forward a little in thought. Her gaze left the Grand Duchess and scanned the room, although Varric wasn’t sure what she was hoping to see. “Well, Your Grace,” she said finally, turning her attention back to Florianne, “we have a bit of history, you and I. You wouldn’t know it, of course, but I remembered it just this morning. Several years ago, you paid a visit to Kirkwall, and Viscount Perrin Threnhold threw a banquet in your honor.”

The Grand Duchess made another “meh” sort of noise, watching Bethany. She was, Varric thought, determined not to miss a trick. “The food was subpar, though the entertainment was... tolerable. What of it?”

“It’s funny you mention the entertainment. Mages from the Kirkwall Circle of Magi were brought to perform for you and the other guests, and one of them was my father,” Bethany replied. “It was on that occasion that he met my mother. This means that, in a funny sort of way, it’s partly because of you that I exist at all.” A ripple of chuckling echoed through the hall, and Varric smirked, folding his arms as he watched her.

Florianne, for her part, remained inscrutable. “A charming history lesson, I’m sure, but I do not see how it affects these proceedings.”

“Oh, I suppose it doesn’t, not really. It just means that I’m a bit less reluctant to have you executed than I might be otherwise.” Sunshine smiled thinly. “That particular instance aside, you’ve caused more than your fair share of pain, and I think it’s time you spread a little happiness in this world. Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons, I hereby name you jester to the Inquisition – a sentence to be carried out in flat shoes.” This was met with further low chuckling from the crowd. Varric saw Josephine press the back of one hand to her lips to stop herself from joining them; Cullen made no such effort.

“History’s greatest malevolence, Inquisitor,” Florianne replied. “I am the jest of Orlais already.” Despite this, she seemed almost amused for a few seconds. Turning, she marched away with her head held high, wrists still bound, followed by the guards who had escorted her.

* * *

The crowd dispersed, as they usually did after one of the Inquisitor’s judgments, but Bethany remained where she was. Varric waited, hesitant. The throne which had been crafted for her was an overly elaborate white marble fabrication, carved by some Orlesian artisan. Adorned with large flames decked out in gold leaf, it was meant to symbolize Bethany’s status as the Herald of Andraste; to him, though, it just looked incredibly uncomfortable and rather larger than necessary, and the woman sitting in it appeared smaller than usual as a result. She was slouched on the cushion a little, tilted to one side, elbow propped on a chair arm and chin pillowed against her lightly clenched fist. Sunlight poured through the magnificent stained glass wall behind the throne, draping her in a mantle of rich, glowing colors.

Finally, when the majority of the people lingering in the hall were occupied with other gossip, he decided to approach. “What’s on your mind, Sunshine?”

“Can I ask you something, Varric?”

“You know the answer to that already, Your Inquisitorialness.”

Her smile was brief. “Do you... do you really believe that I was sent by Andraste?”

Varric blinked. “Well, this is going to get awkward.” He leaned slightly on the throne arm she wasn’t using. “So... you remember my talking about how I’ve never been a disciple who followed a chosen one and all that?”

“I remember.” She gave a delicate sort of snort. “As I recall, I told you I don’t want or need disciples, I want a friend.”

“Which you have, you know that. Not just me, either. Anyway. Herald of Andraste, symbol bigger than all of us, et cetera.”

“We talked about that already. But you’ve known me the longest – do _you_ really think I was chosen?”

He hesitated. “I guess... I do?”

She gave him a dry look, her lips curling in a sort of incredulous smirk. “That sounds remarkably convincing.”

“Like you said, Sunshine, I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve seen you survive a lot of shit even before the Conclave – you lost your father, you escaped the Blight, you were quite possibly the only Circle mage in Kirkwall who didn’t give in to the lure of blood magic, you lost your mother in circumstances we’d both love to forget, you helped bring down Malvernis and Corypheus and Orsino and Meredith. Not to mention, you did all these things and you’re _still_ the sanest and sweetest person I know.” He paused to allow her to giggle. “And then all this happened. You physically walked in the Fade, _twice_. You traveled through time. You crawled out of the wreckage after pulling a mountain down on top of yourself. You run around closing rifts by waving your hand at them. You went from having half of Thedas want you dead to having that same half want you declared one of the Anointed.” He hesitated. “I still don’t know what that even means, to be honest.”

Bethany smiled. “It’s an honor the Chantry gives to people who have been especially influential in spreading the Chant of Light. I’m not entirely certain that I qualify, but the compliment is appreciated.”

“My point is, either you’re guided by some higher power or you have _the_ worst luck. And you know the story of Andraste; you know that bad luck is kind of her thing. I don’t have a nug in this race,” he added. “I mean, that story could be bullshit, or it could be true, I’ll never know. But I like the idea that you could save the world with a song.”

“That’s Andraste, though, not me,” she reminded him.

“Right. Coming back to your original question, then... like I said, I guess I do believe it. But if we’re being honest, I don’t really care.”

“You don’t care whether or not I’m the Herald of Andraste?”

“Not particularly.” He folded his arms. “None of this shit makes sense to me. But whether you’re the Herald or you aren’t, you’re Bethany Hawke. You’re _my Sunshine_. I know that for sure, so I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth on that basis alone.”

* * *

To be fair, being in the Inquisitor’s entourage sometimes felt like he was _literally_ following her to the ends of the earth.

They spent the next couple of weeks in the Emprise du Lion, releasing the villagers from imprisonment by the Red Templars and helping an almost absurdly handsome chevalier deal with a powerful demon who had taken up residence in an elven ruin. “Do you know anything about this place, Solas?” Bethany asked as they began picking their way past the red tents.

“I have seen it in the Fade on occasion. Suledin Keep,” he replied. “In Elvhen, _suledin_ is said to mean ‘endure,’ although that is by no means an entire translation. More accurately, it refers to the concept of finding strength by enduring pain or loss.”

“Your people named a building after pain?” Varric asked him.

“That is an oversimplification, Child of the Stone.” He paused. “But... in a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Allow me to suggest,” said Dorian, reaching for his staff, “that we first _endure_ this red lyrium giant, and argue semantics of language later.”

It was a damn bloody battle, every step of the way through the keep. Imshael himself was the worst, of course, but that was partly because he wouldn’t stop _monologuing_. He tried to offer Bethany a deal, calling himself a choice spirit, and Varric had to stifle a snicker when one of the things Imshael suggested providing for her was a supply of virgins. Where anyone was going to find a supply of those in Orlais, he didn’t know. Not that it mattered, of course; Bethany was not one for making deals with demons and Imshael was obliterated as soon as possible. He made them work for it, naturally, and he didn’t shut up the entire time, but they got him in the end.

Before Bethany could fly the Inquisition colors from the flagpole, however, there was a lyrium-infected soldier who lay on the cobblestones nearby. She spoke to him quietly for a moment, but he expired before she could even offer to end his suffering. “He said that Imshael offered to remove the red lyrium from his body,” she told them, and her eyes were haunted, “but the price he demanded was too high to pay. What could Imshael have wanted? What could have been worse than dying from _this_?”

“Let’s hope we never find out, Sunshine,” Varric replied. “Imshael can’t hurt anyone anymore – that’s what’s important.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” She gave herself a shake. “Let’s get our people in here. We could use a firm foothold in this part of Orlais.”


	19. An Impossibly Handsome Dwarf and His Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of everything, along comes The Descent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really like The Descent. David Hayter is one of my favorite voice actors and frankly, I would have paid for a DLC where I did nothing but listen to Renn and Varric snark at each other for hours. In lieu of that, I offer these next couple chapters.

From the Emprise, rather than straight back to Skyhold, the Inquisitor’s group next traveled to the much more temperate Emerald Graves. Here there was a whole separate tangle of problems to fix. The dashing rogue called Fairbanks welcomed the Lady Inquisitor with all the charm and gentility Varric might have expected from an Orlesian renegade. He was doing his best to protect the ordinary people from the civil war’s fallout; although Gaspard’s exile had firmly concluded that particular disaster, many Orlesian peasants remained whose farms and homes had been destroyed, and these sheltered with Fairbanks in a series of caves. Fairbanks, as Scout Harding had advised Bethany, was probably not his real name, but it didn’t matter. The more important thing was the Freemen of the Dales.

These, as Fairbanks explained, were turncoats from the war. Varric didn’t fault them for their _concept_ – they wanted Orlais to belong to the Orlesian people, rather than fighting and dying in the service of either Empress Celene or Grand Duke Gaspard. That was fairly understandable. Their _methods_ , however, left something to be desired, since a large number of them had left the war-torn Exalted Plains and settled in the Graves, where they were attacking almost anyone who crossed their path. But that wasn’t even the worst part, Fairbanks said. “They are colluding with your enemy.”

“Which one? I have more than my fair share,” Bethany noted dryly.

“The rogue Templars. I do not claim to know the specifics, but they are working together in some fashion. I cannot risk losing more of my people to these ruffians. Put a stop to the Freemen, and everything I have to offer will be at your disposal.” Fairbanks looked earnest, and pleading. “All of my information about them is here in the camp.”

After reviewing his notes, they decided to strike out for a nearby veridium mine, which was part of the Freemen’s holdings and where they hoped to possibly find some of Fairbanks’s people who had been captured. “He’s quite the dashing rogue, isn’t he?” Dorian remarked as they trudged up a gravel-strewn hill.

“Like something from one of Varric’s books,” Cassandra replied, actually sounding almost amused. “Speaking of which, Varric, I assume that you’ve been taking notes to write a book about the Inquisition?”

“What makes you think anybody would read a book about this, even if I wrote one? You’re not that interesting,” he retorted. “Besides, I’m not sure how to make any of this shit sound remotely believable.”

“When has that stopped you before?” rumbled the Iron Bull.

* * *

>   
>   _...so it turned out that the missing cave people were locked in the veridium mine. We dealt with the people holding them and turned them loose, and they were able to salvage some food and supplies to bring back for the others. What sent a chill through all of us was when the one woman – I think her name was Gertrude – mentioned that they were about to be sent to the Emprise du Lion, and she was confused by that because she didn’t know why they’d be sent there. We already shut down the Red Templar operation there, of course, but these guys in the Emerald Graves probably didn’t get the memo. I won’t burden you with details; let’s just say that we know what the reason was for sending them to the Emprise, and it’s the sort of stuff such as nightmares are built upon. (For those of you who dream.)_
> 
> _From there we went to Villa Maurel. I don’t begin to understand how any of those fancy Orlesian nobles could stand to have a house in the middle of the woods like that, with the roads being what they are, although the house itself was appropriately fancy. Anyway, one of the Freemen lieutenants was basing his operations out of the place, and I’m pretty sure that Lord Maurel didn’t authorize that. Assuming he’s still alive, he’s probably not going to be too happy when he comes home. But we cleared out his house, and then a place called Argon Lodge, so the Freemen are done in the Graves and Fairbanks has pledged himself to the Inquisition like he promised. He moved his people to the lodge because it’s a better location and our soldiers can protect them properly there._
> 
> _We wrapped up our stay in the Graves by cleaning out another haunted manor, where some poor little kid got turned into an arcane horror (that’s what Bethany called it, I can never remember demon names), and then visiting some elves who were doing excavations at an ancient Dalish tomb. Something tells me we’re not done with that situation, though, because they still hadn’t actually gotten into the tomb and I have this feeling that they’re going to need our help before it’s all over._
> 
> _I worry about the Inquisitor, of course. She’s gotten better since the mess at Adamant, but even I’m not sure how much of that is really just burying her pain so she doesn’t bother anybody. That’s the sort of person Bethany is. She’s still got a lot of work to do and I worry that she’s drowning her grief in tasks. I’m proud of her, and I know her brothers would be proud of her, but I wish it could be easier for her. She’s already survived a lot more than anybody should have had to endure._
> 
> _I’m sure you’d love her if you met her; most people do, and I’ve started losing count of how many of them are enamored with her on top of it. At least eight of the Inquisition soldiers have a massive crush on her, judging by the gossip I overhear, and the Iron Bull’s right-hand man turns pink whenever she glances in his direction. That’s not even counting all the nobles who were admiring her at the Empress’s ball, and I’m also fairly certain that a couple of her closest associates have at least a passing interest. She takes it in her stride, and she’s playing it very close to the vest as to whether anyone has caught her eye. I hope it provides her with a little distraction, anyway; she needs more of that beyond the occasional chess game with Cullen or book-swapping with Dorian._
> 
> _I’d better wrap this up here, before something else happens and either this letter gets even longer as a result or I get distracted and forget to send it. I hope you’re well, and I was glad to hear that our Templars took care of that situation Curly said you were having. (You sent him a scented handkerchief? Really?)_
> 
> _Always, Varric_

He blew on the ink of his letter to Maevaris, his cousin Thorold’s widow; okay, she wasn’t _technically_ his widow since Thorold was murdered before they actually made it legal, but it was close enough for Varric’s purposes. They were back in Skyhold for a small breather before tackling the next in the lineup of World’s Worst Disaster Areas, so he was taking a bit of time to answer some of his mail. Writing to Mae was a lot less painful than writing to the Kirkwall crew.

He handed off the message to one of Josephine’s people and made his way to the tavern. Bethany waved at him as he descended the stone stairs, evidently having just concluded a discussion with Cassandra about Maker knew what, and moved to his side. “You’re out in the fresh air of your own free will? What’s the occasion?”

“Thought I’d head into the tavern. Join me for a drink, Sunshine?”

“Why not? I actually have a few minutes.”

* * *

The few minutes didn’t last long; they never did. Varric and Bethany were chatting with Bull and his boys when the ambassador came in search of the Inquisitor. “The dwarves of Orzammar have requested aid from the Inquisition,” Josephine informed them.

They all looked up at her, curious. “You sound confused, Ruffles,” said Varric.

“More surprised than confused, really,” she replied. “We have a peace accord with King Bhelen, of course, but I hadn’t really anticipated a request of this nature. It seems that there are earthquakes of unusual intensity causing some of the lyrium mines to collapse. Among other problems, it has opened a large fissure on the Storm Coast. They are asking that the Inquisition investigate and find the source of the problem.”

“I can see why they’re worried,” Varric mused. “Lyrium being what it is for Orzammar’s trade, they can’t afford to lose too many mines. Not to mention what it could be doing to the miners.”

“The balance of their economy has already been upset,” Josephine said, nodding. “There are reports of food shortages in the city, and riots as a result.”

“Well, I guess I’d better get ready to go down there, then,” said Bethany.

“Wait, what? You can’t go to the Deep Roads!” Varric protested. “Can’t you, you know, send some scouts or something to find out what’s going on?”

“We already have Scout Harding on her way to the fissure, to act as go-between on our behalf,” said Josephine. “But it does seem imperative that the Inquisitor herself go.”

“Of course it is. What if what’s causing these earthquakes is a rift, or something like one? I would be the only one who could stop them.” Bethany, to all outward appearances, was calm. Only Varric, knowing her as well as he did, could read the faint undercurrent of discomfort in her eyes and posture. “Please send Scout Harding word that I will join her there as soon as possible.”

“At once, Your Worship.” Josephine smiled warmly and departed.

“I don’t like it, Sunshine,” Varric grumbled. “I _hate_ the Deep Roads.”

“I know you do. But if these earthquakes aren’t stopped, they’ll likely cause more and more problems,” she said patiently. “Not just for Orzammar, but for everyone.”

“You are entirely too reasonable sometimes. All right, we’ll go.”

She favored him with that ridiculously brilliant smile which he was fairly certain could turn some people (not him, of course, but some people) into gibbering idiots. “I knew I could count on you. I’d better go take care of a few things, I’ll see you all later.” Quickly draining her tankard, she stood and vanished in Josephine’s direction.

“What gives, Varric?” asked Bull. “I know you hate the Deep Roads and all, but I didn’t expect you to try to stop the boss from going down there.”

Varric heaved a small sigh. “You met her brothers,” he said, and Bull nodded. “Well, Carver – the one who became a Warden? He _had_ to become a Warden. He went with Hawke and me on my brother’s expedition to the Deep Roads, and we fought darkspawn and he somehow got the taint. The only reason we were able to save him is because we had Anders along, and he was a Warden, and he found a bunch of other Wardens who were doing whatever it is they do down there. One of them owed him a favor, apparently, I didn’t really understand that part but it didn’t matter. They took Junior back to their place and put him through that Joining thing, and it kept him from dying.”

“Oh. Well, that... explains a lot.”

“Yeah. I’m not really on board with the idea of Bethany going down to the place that almost killed her twin. So if she insists on going, then I guess I have to set aside my hatred of the place and go with her.” He grumbled, and took a long and irritated drink. “The things I do to be able to sleep at night.”

* * *

By the time they reached the fissure on the Storm Coast, about a week later, Scout Harding was in position and some surface dwarves were finishing up construction on a lift that would take the gang down to the Legion of the Dead’s camp. “No darkspawn trouble yet,” she reported cheerfully as she welcomed them, “but the earthquakes have been brutal.”

“No darkspawn?” Bethany repeated. “Well, that’s good news.”

Harding nodded. “I sharpened my arrows just in case, but they never showed. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Josephine said I would be meeting someone called Shaper Valta,” Bethany continued. “Is she here?”

“She’s below, at the camp. You won’t see an Orzammar dwarf on the surface,” Harding added. “They have rules about that.”

“Have there been many quakes since you arrived?”

“At least three big rumblers. The aftershocks are nothing to sneeze at, either – my feet miss solid ground.”

A sharp whistle from the direction of the fissure caught their attention, and they turned to see the dwarven engineers walking away from their completed work. They were clad in leather, with hoods drawn up against the Storm Coast climate; it probably wasn’t really helping as much as they hoped, but Varric couldn’t blame them for trying. “The lift’s ready for you,” said Harding, gesturing to the construction.

The group made their way to the round wooden platform with a square roof, suspended from ropes on a pulley system. There were no handrails, and they crowded uneasily in the center. “Try not to shift around,” said Harding, watching Bethany peer warily down into the chasm, “and keep away from the edges. It’s a long way down.”

“Thank you, Harding. We’ll see you as soon as we can, I suppose,” said Bethany. “Please be careful if there are more quakes.”

“Stay safe, Inquisitor.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the lift jolted into action, dropping so suddenly that it felt like it was falling out from under their feet. The Inquisitor uttered a small shriek of surprise, clutching at Varric’s arm for a few seconds until she regained her equilibrium. He chuckled, patting her hand. “This reminds me of a story,” he said, hoping to calm her.

“Really?” She eased her grip, looking at him in surprise.

He nodded. “It’s about an impossibly handsome dwarf and his friend who got crowned King of the Nugs.”

“...you’re not serious.”

“It’s not as good as it sounds.”

“In what world do you think that sounds _good_?” she returned pertly.

He snorted. “Nugs mostly shit on the floor and roll in it. Being their king isn’t all that impressive. Welcome to the Deep Roads, Sunshine.”

“Oh, Varric.” Cassandra shook her head.

“Completely true, Seeker. You just wait and see.”

“Palms calloused, clutching, clawing when the dust came,” said Cole in his soft, weirdly lyrical way. “The stones were angry. I didn’t think stones _got_ angry.”

“The miners, during the earthquake?” Bethany guessed. “They must have been terrified. We have to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.”

* * *

The trip downward seemed to take a few ages. Maybe it was because of the periodic groaning and creaking of the lift; maybe it was the darkness; or maybe it was the silence which filled the air when no other sounds were heard. It was an odd sort of silence, like the lack of noise was a noise in its own right. It seemed to ring in Varric’s ears unpleasantly.

“I could do with a bit of music,” Dorian remarked, as though reading his thoughts. “Maybe something with a flute.”

Finally, however, the lift at last touched down at their destination level. How far underground they had gone, Varric didn’t know and didn’t want to contemplate. The sooner Sunshine was back in the sunshine, the happier he would personally be. Then again, it didn’t really help that the first thing they found after exiting the lift was a series of dwarven bodies covered in sheets, and a woman recording their names. “Korut,” she intoned. “Magarl. Novric. Your names will not be forgotten,” she intoned softly.

“Are you Shaper Valta?” Bethany guessed.

“ _Atrast vala_ , Inquisitor,” came the reply, and the woman bowed. Valta was armored, with a sword and shield on her back. She had dark hair carefully tied back and intelligent, inquisitive eyes which made Varric think of Ruffles; the presence of the clipboard only cemented the resemblance more securely. _Scribbles_ , he decided. “The Shaperate welcomes you to the Deep Roads,” she continued, straightening.

“Bethany Hawke. The Inquisition is happy to assist Orzammar in its time of need,” said Sunshine. “These are my companions – Cassandra Pentaghast, Dorian Pavus, Varric Tethras, and Cole.” Noting that Valta was rather determinedly standing in the shadows, she remarked, “Are you all right? You seem uneasy.”

“As a citizen of Orzammar, even a glimpse of your sky could cost me my position and render me casteless,” Scribbles explained.

“Gotta love ‘real’ dwarves,” said Varric with a faint sigh. Bethany shushed him with a glance, though she smiled to take any sting out of it.

“I know a little of what you do in the Shaperate,” she told Valta. “Our scholar, Brother Genitivi – he visited your city, and recorded his experiences. I read his chapters on Orzammar and the Deep Roads before we came.”

“I appreciate that you would take the trouble. Our work is important, and the details are meticulous,” Valta replied warmly. “The earthquakes are, I admit, making it difficult for me to send reports back, but we’re doing the best we can.”

“Have there been many casualties?”

“More than we can count,” came the grief-stricken answer. “The Mining Caste has suffered greatly, and the situation has only worsened since we contacted Skyhold. I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you responded so quickly.”

“Worsened?” Bethany repeated. “What happened?”

As if in response, a mild tremor shook the rocks around them. Once it calmed, Valta explained, “The quakes collapsed this mine and shattered a seal keeping the darkspawn at bay. The Legion of the Dead hasn’t been able to mend the seal, and we can’t afford to lose any more lyrium.”

“But Orzammar deals with darkspawn all the time,” said Cassandra. “Why turn to the Inquisition for aid?”

“The Legion of the Dead isn’t prepared to deal with this level of disaster,” replied the Shaper with a sigh, “and the Grey Wardens haven’t answered our distress calls.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Varric muttered. He wasn’t sure if anyone else could see that Bethany was paler than usual, but _he_ certainly could. Probably thinking about Carver, just like he was. He coughed. “The Inquisitor sort of adopted the Wardens into our fold a couple months back. Long story. But they’re all over the place so they probably just didn’t get your messages.”

“Well, any threat to the flow of lyrium requires immediate response,” said Valta. “Orzammar’s economy relies on the sale of it, and your surface magic relies on a steady supply of it. There would be disaster above and below if we lost any more mines.”

Before the conversation could continue, another aftershock rippled through the area. This one was harsher than the last, and shook a few stones loose from the walls of the cavern. Varric found himself stumbling to one side, trying to herd Cole away from the danger, when he heard a heavy thud and a small groan. Turning, he saw Valta and Bethany lying on the ground, only a few feet from a large boulder which, he realized with a sick jolt, had come entirely too close to landing on the Inquisitor.

“My apologies for pushing you,” said Valta, getting to her feet.

Bethany did likewise, shaking her head. “You have an open invitation to push any of us if it means saving our lives like that,” she said with a chuckle. “Is everyone all right?”

“Think so, Sunshine, but please don’t do that again. Not sure my nerves can take it,” Varric replied, more lightly than he felt. He cast a quick glance at Sparkler and the Seeker; satisfied that they appeared none the worse for wear, he made a mental note to find a way to do something really nice for Valta at the first opportunity.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Varric.”

“I fear the damage these tremors may have caused,” Scribbles continued. “Follow me to the Legion camp.”

* * *

“I hate the Deep Roads,” Varric muttered as he looked over the ogre corpse.

As they made their way toward the Legion of the Dead camp, Bethany managed to return Valta’s life-saving favor by defending her from the surprise attack. But it took longer than he wanted to remember for the six of them to subdue the damned thing, and Valta was uneasy. “If the ogre managed to get this far, the Legion must be overwhelmed,” she fretted. “Let us hurry.”

She was right, of course. As soon as they entered what arguably should have been a safe place – a long-abandoned thaig, or waypost, or something of dwarven construction – they could see Legion soldiers battling entirely too many darkspawn. One of them seemed to be particularly ferocious about it, swinging his weapon like there was no tomorrow and mowing a path through the enemy.  He was a good-looking brute, burly and coal-haired, and something about him reminded Varric of Carver; of course, the resemblance was somewhat enhanced by the fact that the Legionnaire was cutting down genlocks left and right.

This was what he had feared most about coming here – the prospect of encountering darkspawn, and the possibility (however remote) of Bethany suffering the same fate as her twin. There was no Blondie here this time, either, no handy Grey Warden ally to possibly delay the taint’s death sentence by a couple of decades. Deep in his stomach, Varric felt a sharp stab of dread even as he started firing on the enemy. “Whatever you do,” he growled at the nearby Dorian and Cassandra, “keep these bastards off of the Inquisitor!”

As they raced to enter the fray, the Legionnaire who had caught Varric’s attention turned and barked an order at his men. “Get those charges to the tunnel!” he bellowed in a voice that managed to be even more gruff than Blackwall’s, and two of his fellow Legion members dashed forward carrying large barrels of what was presumably explosive powder. They planted the devices, but before they could set them to detonate, more darkspawn – big armored things, like Varric remembered fighting in the Vimmarks – came pouring out of the tunnel and knocked them askew. Their leader, swearing and swinging his axe left and right, gave a roar of frustration. “Someone prime the sodding fuses!”

“I’m on it,” called a voice, and Bethany cast a spell to clear herself a path. As Varric put a bolt in a hurlock’s forehead, he spared a glance for Valta, and saw that she had more or less taken up position at the Legion commander’s side. Her sword and shield were at the ready, though Varric got the vague impression that the other dwarf was specifically preventing anything from getting too close to her. He could relate.

Dorian’s chain lightning spell flashed through the corridor beyond the tunnel opening, hinting at the possibility of more darkspawn. “We can’t lose this position!” Valta shouted over the din of battle. “Hurry!”

“That’s got ‘em on their heels! Keep it up!” barked the other dwarf.

“Almost ready!” Bethany called back. One charge was set and ready; the other was giving her a little trouble. The last darkspawn blunted its face on the commander’s axe, giving them all a bit more room to breathe.

“Sunshine, get clear!” Varric shouted, moving to deal with the more difficult one. “Everybody out!”

They scuttled out of the vicinity, taking cover behind some of the fortifications as the charges collapsed the tunnel, preventing further invasion from within the depths. With the immediate danger passed, Varric looked around and realized that they were sheltering within the Legion’s camp. In all honesty, it wasn’t too different from an Inquisition camp, he noted. Bedrolls circled a fire pit, maps were strewn across a table, and one Legion soldier turned his attention to a pot of something or other that had been cooking the entire time.

Cassandra sat down to check her equipment and sharpen her sword, with Cole sitting quietly and observing her; if he knew the Seeker, Varric imagined she was either studiously ignoring the kid or else actively trying to keep him out of her head. Dorian went to have a word with the camp’s quartermaster, most likely to make sure they had a decent supply of healing potions and lyrium and whatever other bottled confections they would need wherever they were going next. It was solid practice, especially since it wasn’t altogether clear whether they’d be able to come back easily if they ran out of supplies.

For his part, Varric trailed in Bethany’s shadow as she walked over to where Valta stood. The burly Legion commander was doing the same thing as Cassandra, and Scribbles almost seemed to be studying him as he did, like she was checking him for injuries he wasn’t allowing her to see. “Inquisitor,” she said, turning as they approached, “meet Lieutenant Renn – a veteran of the Fifth Blight and one of the Legion’s finest commanders.”

Renn snorted, getting to his feet and putting his double-headed axe back into its resting position. “Someone paid her to say that,” he assured them. His regular speaking voice wasn’t much less of a guttural growl than his battle shouting; he sounded like his throat was lined with small pebbles. He saluted Bethany and added, more seriously, “Appreciate the help, Inquisitor. Collapsing that seal bought us some time.” He nodded toward the tunnel they had blocked, explaining that the darkspawn had been massing in the nearby corridors and the Legion was being put through its paces to drive them back; the roadblock, as he called it, gave his men a little breathing room.

Whether she was genuinely curious or just being polite, Varric wasn’t sure (and with Sunshine it could easily have been both), but Bethany asked Renn and Valta to tell her more about the Deep Roads and the Legion of the Dead. Varric already knew most of what they proceeded to tell her, so he hung back and instead contemplated their new friends.

That they were attached to each other, he thought, was obvious. It made more sense when he heard Renn mention that he’d been assigned to protect Valta on her unspecified mission into the Deep Roads for the past three years; the bickering pointed to friendship, he noted. Two people who traded _that_ much snark either liked each other a great deal or hated one another’s guts, and there was too much amused fondness in Valta’s expression for Varric to be persuaded of the latter – especially when she reminded Renn that he was welcome to quit acting as her protector whenever he liked. “Not when we still have things to fight about,” he replied, and his tone was something almost like cheerful.

Varric caught Bethany’s eye, and grinned, which he hoped concealed the fact that their new friends’ quibbling caused him a bit of a pang. It reminded him of a very young and ridiculously charming rogue and his equally roguish and beautiful partner in troublemaking. But that was a lifetime ago, he reflected. She was somebody else’s partner now, and had been for a long time. Maybe, if he was lucky, there would come a point where he wouldn’t be unexpectedly reminded of what used to be. He didn’t mind the memories in and of themselves, just the way they tended to crop up out of nowhere to stab his peace of mind (which, if he were honest, wasn’t the most peaceful in the first place).

“The Legion of the Dead,” Bethany was saying, when Varric’s mind caught back up to the current discussion, “has the Inquisition’s full support.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard since the quakes began. Actually, the only good news,” Renn replied.

As if mentioning the quakes reminded them that they were supposed to be happening, the floor beneath their feet began to tremble, and the nearby walls rattled as stones came loose. Varric instinctively grabbed Bethany’s arm before she lost her balance, and they turned to see some of the others in the camp hustling to get clear of a statue before it collapsed. “Be careful!” Sunshine called, allowing herself to be herded to a safe spot. He covered her as best he could, figuring it was better if anything struck _him_ rather than the Inquisitor.

Valta had her hands over her ears, looking pained. Wait, no – not pained. Thoughtful. And she wasn’t covering her ears, she was cupping them. As the quaking ceased, she lowered her hands. “You heard that, yes? The rhythm in the tremors?”

“I heard it,” Renn retorted. “Doesn’t prove a thing.”

“To be completely honest,” said Varric, letting Bethany stand up straight again, “I wasn’t actually paying attention. Why?”

Valta’s look for Renn was something that could only described as affectionate exasperation – or exasperated affection, it worked either way. Varric recognized it; he’d seen it often on the Inquisitor’s face over the years, directed either at him or at one of her brothers. “These quakes,” the scholar explained, turning to them, “are _not_ a natural disaster. They’re deliberate. There’s an... intelligence behind them.”

Varric glanced at Bethany; sure enough, she was looking at him. Turning back to the others, she asked, “Is that even possible?”

“We get a lot of natural tremors down here.” Renn shrugged. “These are different. She thinks she knows why.” Renn, Varric suddenly noticed, was unusually tall for a dwarf – about as tall as Bethany, in fact. It made Valta look small and delicate by comparison, despite her heavy armor.

Scribbles, ignoring Renn’s disbelieving posture, explained how she had found an ancient text – really ancient, she said, from before the First Blight. Its contents mentioned something called the Titans, massive beings which, according to this thing, lived deep underground and shaped the Stone by singing. Varric couldn’t blame Renn for being skeptical, since this sounded like something his mother might have told him as a bedtime story on one of her more sober evenings. On the other hand, some of the lyrium miners had been known to claim they could hear the Stone singing, telling them where to tap new veins, and there was that whole stupid business of red lyrium having a song too. So maybe Valta wasn’t completely off base.

It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’d seen, after all.


	20. The Most Popular Dwarf in the Merchants' Guild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plumbing the very depths.

Much as he didn’t especially want to think about it, Varric couldn’t help wondering just how deep they had gone – or how deep they were going to go. The trouble was, nobody seemed to have any idea of it.

That they were in parts of the Deep Roads which had once been populated by dwarves was clear enough. It wasn’t like the darkspawn went around building lifts from one level to another. The lifts were the part that puzzled him most, in truth, because there didn’t seem to be any clear indication (beyond the obvious “dwarves”) of just who had constructed them. But even without them, the masonry of the structures and corridors and stairs was proof enough that the dwarven empire not only crossed the whole of Thedas, but extended far below its surface.

From the Legion’s base camp, Renn and Valta escorted the Inquisitor’s group down to an area they identified as the Darkspawn Warrens, which sounded about as inviting as the Forbidden Oasis. Scribbles was convinced that the Stone was leading them – or at least, leading her – down to the source of the quakes. Renn seemed to be enjoying the fights they encountered along the way, and when there wasn’t a real fight to be had, he entertained himself by bickering amiably with Valta.

Varric liked Valta. The early parallels he had drawn between her and Josephine still held accurate, and that was in her favor. But between her sword and shield fighting style and the implied love of reading, Scribbles was also like a dwarven version of Cassandra with a more cheerful disposition, and that was something he found more endearing than he would have expected.

He liked Renn too. It took him a little while to determine that for certain; he was always ready to like anyone as long as they didn’t give him a reason not to like them (and sometimes even then – it was a terrible weakness), but Renn was very likable. Two things in particular convinced him of it.

The first was an incident concerning one of his awful stories. This one was worse than most, as he described the fate of a young Legionnaire who had suffered the misfortune of getting a bit of darkspawn blood in his mouth and subsequently contracting the taint. “Took him three days to die,” Renn said, shaking his head.

Bethany, listening to this, had turned an interesting color. She put down her half-empty bowl of stew, politely excused herself, and walked away from the camp to a spot where nobody could see her. Varric wasn’t worried about that – she was smart enough not to go too far – but he turned to Renn and tried to smile. “Could we have a talk about your storytelling, Grisly?”

“Did I offend the Inquisitor?” He seemed honestly surprised.

“No, I know her too well for that. But she has – she _had_ – a twin brother who became a Grey Warden under very similar circumstances to what you just described. If you wouldn’t mind not bringing up taint-related stories, that’d be better for her.”

“Oh. Oh, sod. My apologies, Varric, I had no idea.” Renn looked contrite, and Varric liked him all the better for it. “I’ll be more careful about which stories I tell when she’s around.”

“I appreciate it.” Sure enough, the next time Renn addressed himself to Bethany, it was to ask questions about dragons, and she was much less troubled by that line of conversation.

The other thing which convinced him that he liked Grisly was when they came across a pile of dwarven corpses. It was a Legion patrol, to judge by the armor (and by the fact that nobody else in their right mind would be down here, unless they were Wardens), but as Renn himself said, the bodies were so disfigured that he couldn’t even tell who they were. “I’m sorry, Renn,” said Scribbles in her soft way.

“You join the Legion knowing you’re already dead. You don’t fear the killing blow. We rest in the Stone and pass our strength back to her,” he growled, and under the growl there was a tone of deep sorrow. “That’s our reward. But the darkspawn defiled these soldiers. They can’t return to the Stone, they’d only weaken her.” Renn’s genuine grief for his fellows spoke well of him, in Varric’s mind.

Bethany, he suspected, felt similarly. “Can we do anything for them?”

“We can burn the remains,” Valta suggested, and Renn nodded. It wasn’t easy to create a funeral pyre, but they managed it.

* * *

It was a long slog through the Warrens. Exactly how long seemed to be anybody’s guess. “How do you even tell time down here?” Bethany wanted to know.

“We don’t,” Renn grunted. “Time doesn’t have a whole lot of meaning when you’re dead, which is what Legionnaires technically are. We sleep when we’re tired, we eat when we’re hungry, and we kill whatever gets in our way. That’s really all there is to it, Inquisitor.”

“So you don’t have any way of knowing when one day ends and the next begins?”

“Well, it’s not like on the surface, where your sun dictates day and night,” he replied. He rolled his shoulders inside his armor, watching Cole; the spirit boy was sitting down to have a conversation with some nugs. “In Orzammar they mark time in order to keep consistent with surface allies, and for the convenience of the occasional visitor. But here in the Deep Roads? We don’t bother.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she allowed. “I imagine my first question for Harding when we return to the surface will be ‘What day is it?’ and I’m almost dreading the answer.”

“We have _some_ idea of the passage of time,” Renn continued. “After a while, once you adjust to being here, you develop a sense for it. Plus, Valta has to report in with the Shaperate now and then, so she keeps us updated on what year it is and things like that.” He paused. “Speaking of which, Valta, did that messenger who came through the camp have any news about Orzammar? The food shortage?”

“More riots,” she replied, sounding tired. “There’s unrest from Dust Town to the Diamond Quarters.”

Renn snorted. “Can’t have the Deep Lords going hungry.”

“I made sure your mother and brother are safe,” she promised.

“...that wasn’t necessary.”

“You’re welcome.”

Varric glanced at Bethany, who met his gaze; her lips were visibly twitching in an effort not to smile. He definitely liked these two, and he could tell that she did as well. This conversation just cemented it.

They continued through the Warrens and down into what Valta identified as the long-lost Heidrun Thaig. Well, that explained the lifts; if dwarves had once lived down here, they would of course have wanted a way of getting back up to the Deep Roads proper. Along the way they kept finding two things in particular – abandoned mugs, which Renn sent back to the Legion’s base camp (maybe as proof that their group was still alive), and blood-stained metal gears, which turned out to open up a series of side corridors. These were full of various dwarven treasures from ages past, and at Valta’s request, they marked them so that Bhelen could send people down to collect them with relative ease. Varric honestly wasn’t too sure how this was going to be accomplished; on the other hand, they had probably cleared out the majority of the dangers, so if they could just put a stop to the quakes, it shouldn’t be too difficult.

They had to do some running back and forth between the Warrens and Heidrun Thaig, because so much of it had fallen down that it was completely inaccessible. Messages had to be sent back to Orzammar and also to Harding to be passed on to Skyhold, requesting that teams of engineers be sent down to reconstruct old bridges and stairs. The teams made fairly quick work of it, but it still felt like it had been entirely too long since Varric saw the sun (Sunshine notwithstanding).

“You know, there’s nothing stopping us from going back up,” he grumbled.

Bethany chuckled. “Not yet, Varric.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

“Er... Varric?” Cassandra emerged from one of the ruined buildings of the thaig, carrying what looked to be a cheese wheel. “There’s a note on here. _All praise the Nug King. Sate his appetite with cheese. Older is better._ Is this some kind of a joke?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Seeker. Maybe the dwarves who used to live here had a sense of humor about that story.” He shrugged.

Heidrun Thaig had been abandoned for so long that it had more or less become an extension of the Warrens, which had to account for the waves of darkspawn they faced. “Shrieks,” Renn muttered as they began. “It had to be shrieks.”

“I would have thought you were used to all sorts of darkspawn,” said Bethany.

“Well, everyone’s got their favorites,” he retorted. “Watch out for the ogre! Get to that emissary – take him out and they’re done!”

How long it took, Varric didn’t know, but he had plenty of blood to scrub off of his armor when they were finished. “That’s the last of those darkspawn,” said Renn, his voice gentler than it had been in a while. “The Legion is in your debt, Inquisitor.”

At the end of the thaig, they found another lift, which Valta said had to be close to a thousand years old. “This thaig is on top of a lyrium mine,” she explained. “According to the Memories, the mine was destroyed by an unexplained disaster. The miners must have used this lift to reach the lower levels.”

“But _we’re_ not using it... right?” Varric asked.

Bethany glanced at him with that same sort of amused exasperation he had seen on Valta’s face some days earlier. “Well, if there _is_ a Titan – or something – causing the quakes, then it must be down there.”

He groaned. “I had a feeling you were going to say that, Sunshine.”

Scribbles held up some kind of book she had taken from the body of the darkspawn emissary. “See this line? ‘I awoke to the singing stone. Our kingdom trembled at the Titan’s hymn.’”

“Well, if the people who lived here found a way to stop the quakes, maybe we can too,” said Bethany.

“I see no solution in the text, but most of the pages are practically dust. We’re lucky any words survived.” Valta sighed.

Grisly snorted. “Half a poem. Just what we needed.”

“Perhaps this will change your mind,” she countered. “Look here. It’s the royal seal of Orseck Garal.”

At these words, Renn’s whole aspect changed immediately. Varric had to stifle a chuckle at the way his face lit up. “ _King_ Orseck Garal? You mean that book belonged to a Paragon? Maybe you _are_ on to something, Valta.”

“Of course you would take a dead man’s word over mine. Always the traditionalist.” She shook her head.

“What’s so special about this, Renn?” Bethany asked.

“Paragons are the best of our people,” he explained. “They don’t hand that title to just anyone, not even a king. Knowing it was Garal’s book from the start would have saved us an argument.”

“As if you would _ever_ avoid an argument,” Valta retorted.

Once again, Varric caught Bethany’s eye, and smirked. He was definitely going to have to put these two in a book sometime, and let the readers decide for themselves what the real relationship between them was. He watched idly as they bickered a little about how Valta challenging tradition was the reason she had been sent to the Deep Roads, then explained to the Inquisitor how she had refused to alter the Memories about a small embarrassment concerning some noble or other. _Yep. Orzammar is still Orzammar. Why would anyone want to deal with that shit?_

“If the Memories can be altered,” said Bethany, thoughtfully, “maybe they hid the existence of the Titans too. I guess there’s only one way to find the truth, and that means going down there.” She glanced uneasily at the lift.

Renn nodded. “I don’t know where this lift leads, but we’re about to find out the hard way. Get ready.”

“Perhaps we could take a nap first?” offered Dorian, speaking for the first time in what seemed like hours. “Have something to eat? I don’t know about you, but I’m a little winded after that darkspawn fight.”

“You don’t think you’re infected?” Bethany asked him, alarmed.

“Not a chance, my dear, don’t fret,” he replied soothingly. “But I could do with a bit of a lie-in before we face the unknown.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound unreasonable,” Renn conceded. “Let’s make camp.”

* * *

Some hours later (who knew how many), the lift clattered to the bottom of what seemed like an endless shaft. It was incredibly dark; Varric’s eyes adjusted slowly, finding bits of light to turn the black into an eerie blue. It took everything in him not to slam the control shaft down and send them all back up to the old thaig. _Never thought I’d find someplace I hate more than the Deep Roads._

Cole seemed to agree. “It’s wrong here,” he said, his voice almost fearful. “Too many whispers. The Song is wrong, the chords cut, silent.”

As they moved forward from the lift, Renn raised a hand to signal them to halt. At first, Varric didn’t understand why; but as they all paused, and listened, he realized there were scurrying sorts of sounds around them. Renn growled, thumping the hilt of his axe on the ground. “Show yourselves!” he demanded.

This was answered with a sort of chittering sound. Suddenly, Valta flailed; she was at Renn’s side, and lifted a hand to her cheek, finding blood. “Renn!” she cried, her voice echoing through the chamber as he dropped to one knee. A strange blaze of blue...  _something_ began ricocheting through the area, striking Valta’s shield. As Varric pushed Bethany to where he could try to cover her, he saw the scholar and the Legionnaire look at each other. Renn grumbled something – he couldn’t hear what it was – and then with a roar, he got back to his feet even as Valta cried out again.

The strange blue blasting ceased, briefly, and their enemies started to appear. They were weirdly armored, and they carried weapons that were not entirely like Bianca, only deadlier, and much more bizarre. Whatever they were, they were trouble. Big trouble.

But until the last of the attackers fell, it wasn’t apparent just how much trouble they were. It was only when he knew that he had beaten them, and that the group was safe (however temporarily), that Renn allowed himself to fall. _That_ was why there was blood on Valta’s face, and _that_ was why she had cried out in fear. One of the whatever they were had stabbed him from behind, the weapon going all the way through, and with a final huff of breath, the mighty Legion commander returned at last to the Stone. Valta dropped to her knees beside him, fighting back tears.

“You deserved better,” she told his body.

“Oh, Valta...” Bethany had clapped both hands to her mouth, and lowered them to speak. “I’m so sorry.”

“Renn never wanted this life,” she remarked softly. “He was a cobbler in Orzammar, a good one. He joined the Legion to pay his father’s debts, to keep his mother and brother from losing their caste. The poor and desperate here often sacrifice themselves for their family’s future,” she added.

“Grisly was good people,” said Varric. “We won’t forget about him.”

“He always seemed so indestructible,” Valta mused, looking up as Bethany knelt beside her. Turning her head, she looked at the things which had killed her friend, and frowned. “The armor on these warriors... there’s lyrium woven directly into the metal. And it’s bonded to their skin!” She shook her head. “Impossible to remove, but I know what we’d find underneath. These are dwarves. Renn was killed by our own kind.”

“I’m having flashbacks to the Profane,” Varric muttered to Dorian and Cassandra.

“To the what now?” asked Dorian.

“Rock wraiths we encountered in that thaig, during our expedition.” Cassandra didn’t say anything, but she nodded, apparently remembering that part of his story. “Allegedly they were dwarves, once. Like these things might have been.”

“I won’t leave Renn like this,” Valta was saying. “We must return him to the Stone.” She put a hand to his face, gently closing his eyes. “ _Atrast tunsha, salroka_. I’ll see this through, Renn, I promise.”

“What did she say?” the Seeker asked quietly.

“Old dwarven rite for the dead.” Varric’s voice was rough; he suddenly remembered Hawke saying the words for Tethras Garen, when they stumbled across his body in the old Warden prison. “Basically, it means, ‘May you find your way in the dark, my friend.’”

* * *

“It sings softly under the silence,” Cole intoned, once Renn had been laid to rest beneath a pile of awkwardly arranged hunks of rock. Scribbles turned to look at him. “The Stone took him back. He’s home again.”

“Somehow, that brings me comfort,” she replied. “Thank you.”

Valta, Varric realized, was a little bit like Bethany in one sense at least – she was going to bury her grief with work. Almost immediately after they finished their duty to Renn, she turned her attention to some kind of carved slab on one of the stone walls. She compared it to the Memories in the Shaperate, but a very ancient version in a dialect of the dwarven language that she could only just barely understand.

“This word keeps appearing,” she noted. “‘Sha-Brytol.’ I believe it means ‘revered defenders.’”

“Are those the things that attacked us?” Bethany asked.

“I think so. They attacked us because they’re protecting something.” Scribbles paused, studying a different part of the slab. “‘Cut out our tongues, entomb our bodies, watch over the Titan until it stirs.’ They’re protecting a Titan!” Her face was bright for a moment, and then it fell. “I can hear Renn’s objections,” she said sadly. Turning back to them, she set her jaw. “Let’s keep moving. If more of these Memories exist, they may have the answers we need.”

Naturally, they had all sorts of amusing adventures along the way. Fighting the Sha-Brytol, finding another way around when the blighters detonated a bridge, stumbling across more ancient carvings which seemed to imply that the Titan used the earthquakes to shape the very form of the world... Varric could never put all this in a book, he thought. Nobody would ever believe it. Valta, meanwhile, kept switching between excitement (over the discoveries) and anger (because she was in that stage of the grieving process).

They stepped clear of one cavern and found themselves staring at what had to be at least a mile of pure, untapped lyrium. Varric chuckled. “I just became the most popular dwarf in the Merchants’ Guild.”

“Hold that thought,” said Bethany, amused. “These Sha-Brytol must mine the lyrium somewhere, since their armor and weapons are made with it.”

“Unless they found another way to harness it,” Valta noted.

Several minutes later, having dispatched another group of Sha-Brytol and explored the area, they found themselves confronted with an engraved waystone. “‘Only those who believe may cross’?” Bethany blinked, looking out beyond the stone. “Cross what? There’s nothing there.”

“Should we turn back?” Valta looked uneasy.

“Well, let me try this.” Sunshine shrugged. “Someone be ready to grab me if I fall.”

She didn’t, however. As she stepped off of the ledge, a previously unseen bridge seemed to sweep into existence beneath her feet, and they followed her to its far side. Several nugs – a clutch? A pride? Varric couldn’t remember what the name was for a group of nugs – were swarming in the cavern there.

“This can’t be happening,” Varric muttered to no one in particular, watching Bethany follow the nugs. Cole immediately went after her, looking delighted. “Come on, let’s keep them out of trouble.”

The nugs guided them to a stone altar. “I think we’re supposed to offer something, but I can’t imagine what,” said Sunshine with a frown.

“Say, Cassandra, where is that curious cheese wheel you unearthed?” asked Dorian. “This might as well be the place where you stop carrying it.”

“I – very well. I was saving it in case our food supply became too desperate, but perhaps you are right.” With some trepidation, the Seeker placed the moldy old cheese on the altar. The nugs climbed up to the ledges around the room, watching and squeaking.

“I don’t think I like this,” Bethany muttered.

“No, it’s all right,” said Cole. “They won’t hurt you. They’re waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For _him_.”

And then, with a particularly mighty shriek, a nug wearing a crown popped out of the shadows. “Well, shit,” said Varric. This was definitely going to be the weirdest book ever.

Bethany turned to look at him, her topaz eyes wide with astonishment. “I thought you were _kidding_.”

“Honestly? So did I. Who knew that old legend was true?”

As the Nug King hopped up onto the altar and sniffed the cheese, Bethany approached cautiously and, after a moment’s deliberation, dropped to one knee. “Care to explain what's going on, Varric?” asked Dorian.

“Well, the story I mentioned when we first came down here? It's from a bunch of old songs by Paragon Ebryan. Nobody I know ever thought it was true, but a lot of people have come down here with cheese over the years in hopes of finding the Nug King.” Varric shrugged. “Nobody ever succeeds. My guess is that they never went deep enough. Either they couldn't get past the darkspawn, or they couldn't get past those broken bridges we had to get repaired.”

“How are you going to tell this part of the story?” Cassandra sounded almost like she was trying not to laugh.

“Very, _very_ carefully. To a very small audience. Probably after they've gotten very drunk.”

* * *

It was an admittedly welcome diversion; if nothing else, it seemed to give Scribbles a reason to smile for a few minutes, and they were able to take shelter in the Nug King’s caves and get a little rest where the Sha-Brytol were unlikely to find them. Varric wondered if the Sha-Brytol had some kind of agreement with the nugs or if they just politely ignored one another. Whatever the case, there were no blue lights peering through the darkness for a little while, and he slept better than he had since Renn died. They pressed forward through the weird blue-blackness of this unfamiliar realm, taking out more Sha-Brytol and using some of their explosives – Valta dubbed them ‘earthshakers’ – to bring down barriers before making camp once again.

Dorian tended the cooking fire, and Cassandra was inspecting her armor for damage. Varric was curled on his bedroll, watching Bethany and Valta while trying to make it look like he wasn’t. They had walked away together, studying yet another of those Memories-like carvings and discussing the situation between themselves.

“We must be getting close, don’t you think?” Dorian mused. “Surely it can’t be too much farther.”

“I am more concerned with our return,” said Cassandra, grimly. “I have long since lost track of where we are in relation to the lift which brought us down. Assuming we survive whatever lies ahead...”

“Power of positive thinking, Seeker.”

She ignored him. “...how can we find our way out of here?”

“Scribbles will figure it out,” Varric assured her. “She told us her Stone sense is very strong. The Stone will tell her how to get out of here. It’s a dwarf thing, I only barely understand it.”

“Surface dwarves are that different from the underground sort?” asked Sparkler, curious.

“Very. You’ve noticed I’m not afraid of the sky? That’s just the start of it.”

“No, you just hate the wet things which fall out of it from time to time.”

“That’s not a dwarf thing,” Varric replied. “That’s a sensible attitude no matter what race you are.” He pushed himself up and off of the bedroll. “They’re taking too long, I’m gonna go be nosy.”

“Of course you are.” Dorian sounded amused.

Ignoring the comment, Varric made his way over to the carved wall. He heard something about ‘the pure’ and Bethany speculating about the earthquakes being intended to destroy the lyrium mines, since that was exactly what they had been doing.

“But why would they want to destroy the lyrium mine?” asked Valta.

“And what makes the Sha-Brytol ‘pure,’ for that matter?” Bethany returned.

“You spend long enough this far down, reason might not be your strong suit,” Varric answered as he reached her side.

“Well, they do wear that sealed armor,” said Valta, thoughtfully. “To... protect themselves from impurities?”

“This could all be a lot more than we were expecting.” Sunshine sounded uncharacteristically grim.

“For all the Shaperate’s knowledge, I know so little!” Scribbles had a desperate note in her voice that made Varric uneasy. She gestured to the wall. “This reads like a final warning. We must be nearing the source.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, so Varric finally interrupted the pause. “Then we’d better get some food in our stomachs and a little rest before we find it. Hard to say what we’re up against, but we need to be as ready for it as we can be. Come on, both of you.” He herded them back to the small camp, feeling a weird twist of dread in his gut. Whatever was coming was not going to be good.

* * *

Beyond the lyrium-threaded area, which Valta dubbed “the Bastion of the Pure,” they found a sort of underground garden. It was as though part of the Emerald Graves had somehow been transported down below the Deep Roads – lush green trees and sparkling waterfalls and brilliant lighting. “Did the Sha-Brytol build all this?” Valta gasped.

“Maybe. Or maybe it was here before them,” Bethany suggested.

“Nothing should surprise me anymore, but this... wait.” Walkways led out to different rock formations, and on one of these was a strange blue-lit structure. Valta stared at it intently. “The rhythm we followed – we’ve found the source! But... not the Titan.”

“Maybe we have,” said Bethany. Varric glanced at her, puzzled. “You know, ever since we came down here, the Deep Roads have been different. Maybe that’s got something to do with the Titan. What do we know about it, really?”

“It’s big. Huge enough to change the world around it,” said Valta slowly.

“Oh, Maker, I just had a thought.” Sunshine’s eyes opened wide suddenly. “What if we can’t see the Titan because this _is_ the Titan? We’re _inside_ it!”

“You know,” said Varric, “that’s so weird that it almost has to be true.”

The Sha-Brytol were massing on the far end of the walkway where they stood, and for the first time, Varric could really get a good look at them, thanks to the light emanating throughout the area. What he had thought were bright blue eyes peering through the darkness were really some sort of apparatus on their helmets. The things made creepy noises, like breathing but _wrong_ , and Scribbles was visibly afraid. “If I die here,” she told Bethany, “Orzammar must know the truth.”

“Oh, no.” Sunshine shook her head. “No dying today. We’re all going back up together.”

They got through the fighting, and after a quick breather, continued picking their way down to the blue light source. Valta was exultant – the place looked like it might be a city, a civilization, and it was obviously untouched by the earthquakes. Varric was mostly just eager to leave. The blue light made it easier to see where they were going, but it also made it harder for him to judge whether his companions were injured, and he didn’t like that. Sunshine needed to be in the sunshine.

More climbing down ladders, more fighting, and as they got closer, Varric realized he was looking at clouds. The structures weren’t, as he’d first thought, built on top of rock formations reaching up from some unknowable ground – rather, they were attached to what looked like very long formations that reached _down_ from the ‘ceiling.’ What was below them almost looked like sky. “This place is like the world turned upside down,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Finally, at the bottom of a very long stone staircase, they found one more wall of Memories. “There’s a reference to... Titan’s blood?” Valta peered at the weird carvings. “It says the Sha-Brytol come here to...  _drink_ it.”

“I’m surprised the Titan is all right with that,” Bethany remarked. Varric could almost hear her brother’s voice in the words.

“But where is it?” Scribbles wondered. “Unless...” She looked out at the blue stone-thing that seemed to be the light source. “Lyrium. The Titan’s blood is _lyrium_.”

“Are you sure?”

“Everything that’s happened is related to lyrium – the destroyed mines, the singing Stone. It all leads here!”

“I have to admit you’ve got a point, Scribbles,” said Varric. “Question is, what do we do now?”

As if in response, the ground began to shake.


	21. This Won't Be Any Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more unto the Breach - I mean, Deep Roads - and then there's the little matter of Blackwall.

Several days later, Varric was studying the fire in Skyhold’s great hall. They had returned from the Storm Coast at an hour so late, he was inclined to think of it as “stupid o’clock;” but after a bit of bread and soup and a few hours of sleep, he was feeling mostly like himself again.

He was brooding, however. Not as much as the elf, of course, but still, brooding. Renn’s death was weighing on his mind, as was Valta’s fate. They were good people, and their losses were hard to accept. That was the main cause of the brooding, really; he was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened to Valta.

She’d been knocked senseless by something or other, a blast of raw lyrium maybe. While she was out, the Inquisition squad had fought with the monstrous critter that was guarding the Titan’s heart, or whatever that blue thing was. Exactly what the guardian was, Varric didn’t know, but it reminded him so strongly of the rock wraith from the ancient thaig that he was very nearly having flashbacks – especially with the way it basically assembled itself out of rocks lying on the ground. The damn thing had actually been harder to kill than _Imshael_ , which was really saying something, although at least the guardian didn’t have a monologuing superpower.

But they brought it down, eventually, and that was around the time Valta woke up. He tried to remember the details more concretely, maybe make a little sense of them.

* * *

“Valta, are you hurt?” Bethany called, seeing her get up.

“Too loud – the song – _stop_!” Suddenly there was a blue glow coming from Valta’s hands, and an explosion; he’d tried to get in front of Bethany, shield her from flying debris, but it was over too quickly. Valta got to her feet, and stared at them in utter perplexity. “I am... it’s all right.”

She spoke of the song, how it had faded but it still spoke to her. “The Breach – that was what disturbed the Titan,” she explained. “It is calm now that it has a connection to one of its children – to _me_.”

“I thought a dwarf was a child of the Stone, not of the Titans,” said Cassandra.

“I am not certain _what_ I am. But the Titan recognized me, like a parent hearing its child’s voice.” Valta smiled, if a little vaguely. “I am different, but I am still a Shaper.” She gestured for Bethany to follow her to where she could look out over things, and Varric trailed after them. “ _Isana_. It’s our word for lyrium, and we are taught that it’s a gift from the Stone. But there’s so much more to it than we ever imagined.”

“What will you do now?” Bethany asked.

“I was sent to the Deep Roads to recover lost history, but this is only the beginning,” Valta replied. There was a sort of gleam in her eyes that Varric had never seen, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. “I am staying here. The Deep Roads are filled with wonders, answers to questions we haven’t even thought to ask.”

“But this could be dangerous,” Sunshine objected. “The Sha-Brytol are still here, they might hurt you.”

“The Sha-Brytol turned themselves into monsters. _I_ changed because the Titan willed it. The mine’s collapse, Renn’s death – it all happened to bring me here.”

“Nothing good _ever_ happens in the Deep Roads,” Varric grumbled. “This won’t be any different.”

Scribbles ignored him. “I am called to the search, Inquisitor,” she said. “This is where I belong.”

“I guess this is goodbye, then,” said Bethany, uncertainly. “Please be safe, all right? And what should we tell the Shaperate about what’s become of you?”

“Tell them the truth. You don’t know.”

Varric supposed that Valta somehow persuaded the Titan to guide them back to the lift, which brought them back up to Heidrun Thaig, and then they stumbled back through the Darkspawn Warrens and at last found their way back to the base camp, and Scout Harding. He claimed a spot out of everyone’s way and sat down heavily, closing his eyes, rubbing his temples to fight off the pain that was nesting there.

Something cool suddenly touched the back of his neck, and then the top of his aching head, and he relaxed. Opening his eyes, he saw Bethany’s face; the cool thing was her hand, with a minor healing spell. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Sunshine. Are you all right?”

“Mostly just confused. And tired. And hungry.”

“That first one’s gonna dog us all for a while, but at least we can fix the other two.” She pulled her hand away, and he shook his head in bewilderment. “You think she’ll be okay down there?”

“I don’t know what to think. But I hope so.”

* * *

The next day they had emerged from the Deep Roads into the sunshine, sent a messenger bird ahead to reassure the advisors that they all still lived, and began the trek back to Skyhold. Varric was glad to breathe the free air again, but he suspected it would be a while before he really made his peace with what had happened. The Inquisition as a whole, and he and Bethany in particular, had already had to accept too much loss for one year; why had these new friends been dropped into their lives only to be snatched away again without warning?

As if his brain had been posing the thoughts as a form of foreshadowing, Bethany suddenly appeared on the threshold of the hall. “Oh, good, you’re here,” she said. Her expression was troubled, and she clutched some papers in her hand.

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?”

“It’s Blackwall. He’s _gone_.” She showed him what she was holding; it was information pertaining to a hanging in Val Royeaux. “I don’t know if he’s gone to stop this, or to recruit the man for the Wardens, or what he’s doing. But I feel like we need to go after him. Why would he leave a clue like this if he didn’t want us to follow?”

“That’s a good point,” he mused. “Looks like we don’t have any too much time to get there – how long ago did he leave?”

“I don’t know. As far as I’ve been able to determine, no one saw him go, and he didn’t take any of the mounts.” She shook her head. “Probably before we got back last night, but it’s hard to say.”

“Maybe he hitched a ride with one of the caravans.” There was a near-constant stream of such things in and out of Skyhold, bringing supplies and recruits. “I mean, I doubt he’s walking all the way to Val Royeaux.”

“Let me go over this with Cullen and Leliana. We should be able to be on the road within an hour or so.” She looked at the papers as though she still didn’t entirely understand what they said. “Maker, I hope this makes sense when we get there, because right now it doesn’t make any.”

* * *

It didn’t make sense when they got there. At least, not at first.

It took some hard riding to make it to the city by the stated time of the execution, and a light rain was falling when they finally sighted the gate to the Avenue of Her Reflective Thought. “Does it always rain on execution days?” Varric wondered. “Is Orlais really so committed to aesthetic that even the weather gets in on the act?”

“Frankly, that _would_ explain a lot about the place,” Dorian replied. They found where their people had established a sort of regional waypost; Celene, in gratitude for her life, had made arrangements for them to have better quarters and ample supplies, and they left their mounts and hastened across the bridge into the market district. There was already a large crowd gathered around the gallows, where a masked official was announcing the crimes of a sorrowful-looking fellow he identified as Cyril Mornay. He’d apparently been involved in the murder of a noble family some years earlier. “Who is this man to Blackwall, I wonder? A brother? A friend?”

“Whoever it is, this is... really grim,” said Varric, looking around at the collected people. The noose was placed around Cyril Mornay’s neck.

“ _Stop_.”

As they watched, the crowd parted sufficiently for Blackwall to climb the stairs to the gallows. “A Grey Warden?” asked the baffled official.

Blackwall began to speak in a thundering voice, about how Mornay was a soldier who had followed orders and should not have to pay for the crimes of his commanding officer. “Oh, shit,” Varric muttered, suddenly understanding exactly why Blackwall had come all this way.

“The guilt is mine. I gave the order. I am Thom Rainier.”

* * *

“Well, Sunshine, what are you going to do?”

They had returned, once the shock had eased somewhat, to where they had left the mounts. Dorian had used magic to give Bethany a cup of tea, which she nursed almost absent-mindedly while she stared into the fire. She glanced at Varric, blinking her big brown eyes in a manner that suggested she only partly understood the question.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you have options. You could go see Blackwall, or Rainier, or whatever. Get his story. See how you feel about it. Orlais owes you a couple of favors, from where I’m sitting, so if you want to be the one to decide what happens to him you probably can.”

“And what if I don’t want to make that decision?”

“That’s a separate decision on its own. Either way, you have to decide _something_ ,” he said gently.

“Varric is right, Bethany.” Dorian’s voice was equally gentle. “The Inquisitor will need to see to this matter. Cullen is already at the prison, trying to learn more details.” The commander had accompanied the three of them to Val Royeaux, although he wasn’t able to give any sort of clear reason as to why he insisted on it. Maybe he’d had his own suspicions about Blackwall’s real motives, or maybe he just thought two mages and a dwarf with a crossbow could use a swordsman for balance.

“And what if I bring him back to Skyhold and they force me to pass sentence on him?” she asked. “It’s not like judging Florianne or Servis or even Alexius. This is Blackwall. This is _our_ Blackwall. He’s been fighting at our side for months, taking on as much of this pain and responsibility as any of the rest of us. How am I supposed to decide his fate based on something that happened before any of us ever met him?”

“I know, Sunshine.” Varric sat down next to her. “It’s not fair. None of the shit you’ve had to take on since this all began has been fair.” It hadn’t, either, and he tended to get pissed off about that fact if he thought about it too much. “But if you _don’t_ do what you can to get him out of there... he’s going to die. You know that, right? Maybe the world doesn’t lose a good Warden, in that case, but it does lose a guy who sounds like he tried to make up for something he did when he was younger.”

Dorian looked uneasy, but he nodded. “An unblemished past is a luxury most of us don’t have, Bethany,” he said. “I don’t think you understand what a rarity you are. For the majority of people, all we can do is try to be better today than we were yesterday.”

She gave a mirthless little chuckle. “Are you spreading rumors about me again, Varric? Trying to persuade the rest of the world that I’m incorruptible?”

“What, like it’s hard?” he retorted. “Sparkler’s right. You’ve probably got the cleanest conscience of anybody I know. So maybe it’s a little harder for you to understand this kind of stuff.”

She sighed. “All right, let’s not overdo the flattery, boys. I appreciate it, but still.” She looked into her tea and then drained the cup. “I’ll go see what Cullen’s learned, and maybe speak to Black-whomever myself.”

“You want me to come with you?” Varric asked dubiously.

“Thank you, but no. It might go easier if it’s just me to look him in the eye.”

* * *

Apparently it did, because the following day they were on their way back to Skyhold, and a little while after they arrived, Bethany informed Varric that Blackwall (or whatever) was being released to Inquisition custody. “I still don’t know exactly what to do with him,” she said with a sigh, “but at least he’s alive. What really upset me was when Leliana suggested we switch him with someone else.”

“Like I said, she’s the only person who scares me more than Aveline.” Varric shuddered a little. “I assume you didn’t trade one life for another.”

“No, of course not. We made the arrangements to have him remanded to us as a personal favor from the Empress.” She sighed again. “I mostly feel badly for Josephine. She and Blackwall had the sweetest little flirtation going, did you know? He would send her flowers, and she would leave little tokens like handkerchiefs for him to find. Courtly love, she said, since their social ranks are too far apart for a real courtship.”

“I had no idea, honestly.” Well, that shut down his idle speculations about either Blackwall _or_ Josephine having an interest in Bethany. Good thing he hadn’t put money on it like Sparkler had tried to talk him into doing.

“He used to comment that she was ‘lovely, and craftier than you’d expect,’ but I found out about the rest by accident. She admitted it when I asked.” Bethany smiled briefly. “It was a conversation that I think did us both some good at the time, talking about men and romance like we were two normal women in a normal world for just a quarter of an hour.”

Varric couldn’t suppress a chuckle at that. “Yeah, you both need that a little more often than either of you gets it.”

“Well, that’s over and done. I think she’s more hurt by all of this than she’s letting anyone see.”

“So... did you figure out what you’re going to do?” he asked gently.

“Not yet. I do have a few ideas; it’s just a matter of deciding which one is best.” She sighed. “As if I know.”

“I trust your judgment, Sunshine. I think we all do,” Varric replied. “Whatever you think is the right thing to do, we’ll support you.”

* * *

Blackwall – Varric decided he’d just keep calling him that unless he was told to do otherwise – arrived the following afternoon. He felt a wrench of genuine pity for Josephine, who once again had to be the one to introduce the condemned in the court proceedings; she was clearly as upset as Sunshine had indicated. Blackwall couldn’t even look at her.

Up on the dais, sitting in her flame-adorned chair of extreme discomfort, Bethany studied him with an air of sorrow. “This is more difficult than I imagined it would be,” she admitted in her soft voice.

“One more thing for me to regret.” He was staring daggers through the stone floor. Varric thought that was a bit unfair; the floor hadn’t done anything wrong. “I was ready for all this to end, Your Worship.”

“I know. But I thought... that would be a waste.”

“A waste.” He gave a short, unhappy laugh. “Like the rest of it, I suppose. Very well – my life is in your hands. What will you do with it?”

Bethany leaned back a bit in her chair, studying him. “Not so very long ago,” she said finally, “the Wardens lost a good man. I will send one back to them. The real Blackwall intended for you to join them, so I will let them decide your fate.”

“I can’t replace your brother, Your Worship.”

“I won’t ask you to try. But you will go to the Wardens – _after_ Corypheus has been defeated,” she added. “Until then, Thom Rainier, the Inquisition needs you.”

“As you command.”

“The life of a Warden is not an easy one,” she warned him. “I know that from my brother’s letters, even though he couldn’t tell me everything about it. Not everyone survives the Joining, and those who do must face challenges the rest of the world can never understand.”

“If I die, it’s no less than I deserve,” he replied. “And if I live, I’ll make it count. I am grateful for this, Inquisitor. I’ll serve as long as I can.” He bowed deeply to her; Varric didn’t know if that surprised Bethany, but it did surprise him somewhat. The bailiffs removed his restraints, and Blackwall walked out of the great hall.

* * *

“We’ve agreed that he’s still to be called Blackwall,” Bethany informed the ‘inner circle’ members at dinner that night. “Sort of a title, rather than a name. A reminder of what he’s going to try to be.” Blackwall himself was not present, apparently not feeling equal to the task of facing everyone – or at least not all of them, not yet.

Varric merely nodded, then glanced around the table to try and read everyone else’s reactions. Most of them were, to his surprise, fairly mild. Cassandra looked a little bit shy of murderous, but she bit down on whatever words she had been forming. Cullen wasn’t much better. Sera, who was probably closest to Blackwall out of all of them, just seemed to be happy that he was staying. Cole occasionally flitted in and out of the scene; considering the way the Kid’s mind seemed to work, Varric had to wonder how much of this had come as a surprise to him, or if any of it did at all.

“Can we trust him?” Bull grunted. He didn’t sound exactly suspicious, just... cagey. Then again, someone who went around being called _Liar_ probably didn’t have much room to judge.

“Would you have trusted him before all of this happened?”

“That’s a matter of debate,” Dorian drawled.

Bethany ignored him. “Blackwall’s lie was about who he was, not what he does. He’s still the same person who fought alongside us at Adamant. Let’s leave it at that, please, and remember who is our _real_ enemy.”

“Agreed,” said Solas. “We must not allow this to deter us from our goal farther than it already has. If he remains to assist us, so much the better. None of us are without regrets of one sort or another, and yet here we all are. Stopping the Elder One must remain the priority.”

“Are you sure this is the best idea, darling?” Vivienne asked. She was completely calm.

“Am I ever?” came the weary reply. That effectively ended the discussion.

* * *

The wonderful lucyrne put together this beautiful moodboard in honor of the story! Thank you again, sweetpea, I love it!

 

 


	22. What Are You Doing to the Kid?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole's personal quest is rather personal for Varric too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the process of moving house, so I probably won't be updating this story again until next weekend. My apologies, and thanks for your patience. :)

They would, it seemed, be on the move soon. Morrigan had deduced that Corypheus might be chasing down a mirror like the one Merrill used to try to fix, back in Kirkwall; she never had gotten the fool thing to work, but this ‘arcane advisor’ of Empress Celene’s apparently had one of her own, and knew more about them. An eluvian, she called it. He sort of wished he could introduce her to Daisy, although at the same time he still didn’t entirely believe that the mirror was a good thing.

Anyway, she was convinced that this was what he wanted – not hers, but another one. There were a lot of them in the world, or at least there used to be, and she knew where one was hidden behind a lot of ancient elven safeguards. They were just waiting for Leliana’s spies to confirm that Corypheus’s forces were moving in that direction before they called in every favor in existence and launched a massive assault.

In the short term, there were other things to finish. Vivienne had requested that Bethany bring her the heart of a snowy wyvern, for some reason. Cassandra had tracked a few of her fellow Seekers to a minor lord’s estate in Ferelden. Something was going on with Cullen, which Bethany was apparently honor-bound not to discuss even with Varric. Basically, he thought, every member of the ‘inner circle’ either currently needed or had needed the Inquisitor to help them resolve some sort of minor crisis, and he thought once again how it was rather unfair. (Even he wasn’t innocent of the matter, although the situation with Bianca had been a little more than either of them had expected. It still counted, though.) The only one, as far as he could tell, who hadn’t asked anything of her beyond permission to stay and help was Cole.

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised when that changed.

* * *

Varric was sitting by the fire, reviewing his story notes, when he heard what sounded like a minor explosion and a yelp of pain coming from the rotunda. Frowning, he set aside his pages and made his way through the short corridor, and was baffled to find Solas and Bethany looking at Cole in some anxiety.

“What are you _doing_ to the kid?” he asked, concerned (and, to be honest, mildly annoyed).

All three of them turned at his entrance. “Stopping blood mages from binding me like the demons at Adamant,” said Cole in his matter-of-fact way. “But it didn’t work.”

Bethany immediately held up her hands. “It’s all right, Varric,” she said, glancing at Cole as if to get confirmation it really was all right. After a beat, she gave Varric a quick run-down of the plan they had attempted to enact.

“Something is interfering with the enchantment,” Solas added, his tone almost more matter-of-fact than Cole’s.

“Something like Cole _not_ being a demon?” Varric retorted.

“That may be,” Bethany said gently, as if trying to soothe everyone at once, “but he isn’t fully human either. He could still be in danger from binding.”

“Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances,” Solas added, “he remains a spirit.”

“Yes, a spirit who is _strangely_ like a person,” Varric insisted.

“I don’t matter!” Cole cried, stalking about the room. Varric watched him, concerned. “Just lock away the parts of me that someone else could knot together to make me follow!”

“Focus on the amulet,” Solas urged him. “Tell me what you feel.”

The kid’s face contorted, scrunching like he’d eaten a lemon (which would be interesting, seeing as he’d never eaten anything in the whole time Varric had known him). Finally, his expression cleared, though it was dark and disturbed. He began muttering about something warm, and that he was “the wrong shape;” then he turned abruptly, pointing vaguely south. “There,” he said firmly. “That way.”

Bethany’s eyes widened slightly. “What’s that way, Cole?” she asked, her tone still gentle. “Can you sense what’s making the amulet not work?”

He shook his head. “Hard, harsh, beyond my line of sight.”

“All right, Kid,” said Varric. “Get Cullen and work with him on the map to figure out where you’re sensing something wrong.”

“Will you come with me? All of you?”

“Sure.” Varric kept his tone gentle, even after Cole left the room, though it took on the tiniest of sharp edges for Solas. “All right, I get it, you like spirits. But he came into the world to be a person. So let him be one.”

“I have to agree with Solas,” Bethany interjected, her face and voice both vaguely apologetic. “Whether Cole is a spirit or a demon, he has magical abilities _and_ vulnerabilities. We can’t ignore that. He specifically came into this world to help, and he can’t do that if he’s bound. _We_ need to help _him_.”

Varric was honestly not sure who was more surprised, himself or Solas, at Bethany’s assertion of taking sides against him. They so rarely disagreed on much of anything that it felt _weird_. “Fair enough,” he said; she did have a point, after all. “But that ritual of theirs only works on demons, right?”

“This is not some fanciful story, child of the Stone,” Chuckles barked. “We cannot change our nature by wishing.”

“You don’t think?”

“However we deal with the problem, our next step is to track down whatever is interfering with the enchantment.”

Bethany nodded and thanked Chuckles, who inclined his head before going back to... whatever it was he did at his desk. Varric headed back out to his usual spot, and Sunshine trailed after him. “I just want you to know that I hear what you’re saying,” she said as they exited the rotunda. “I think we should see what Cole’s sensing first and go from there.”

“I can agree to that,” he said, settling down at the table again and watching her take a chair opposite. “We’re all worried about him. It just rubs me the wrong way when everybody acts like he’s a demon. Buttercup and the Iron Lady already call him that enough for all of us.”

“I understand,” she said, in that soft, earnest way of hers which made him think that she actually _did_ understand. “And I don’t think he’s a demon, not in the traditional sense – not like the type we fight from Fade rifts, surely, or the one I faced in my Harrowing. But the things he can do... they _are_ magic, even if he’s not a mage.”

“I’ll have to defer to the experts on that subject,” he admitted. Bethany and Solas would naturally know more than he did about magic, after all. “But I’d really like to see him have the chance to be a person. I don’t even know why. You’d think after Blondie, I’d be a lot less eager to even know Cole, much less help him.”

Bethany winced involuntarily. “No matter how we solve this, we won’t let Cole’s nature become twisted like that. If there’s one thing we agree on, it’s that we all three care about him.”

“I’ll drink to that, Sunshine.”

* * *

It was a few days later when Curly presented Bethany with what he and Cole had determined. “As far as Cole’s been able to pin the matter down,” he said, looking faintly confused, “the problem is somewhere in Redcliffe Village. I don’t think he can be any more specific without actually going there and letting his senses guide him.”

Bethany nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Cole asked Solas, Varric, and myself to accompany him – as soon as they’re all free, we’ll go.”

“My schedule is pretty open, Sunshine,” Varric reminded her, watching the exchange. “You tell me when we’re leaving and I’ll be ready.”

“I’d like to go as soon as possible,” she mused. “I think the whole thing has us all a bit on edge. Better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later, I should say.”

“Makes sense to me. Let’s go find the others.”

Cole was only too eager to find the source of his difficulties, and Solas was as concerned about the matter as Varric, so it was late the following morning that they reached the village gates. Cole took the lead, seeming to almost be letting his nose guide him as he led them through the dirt lanes of the little fishing community. The sunlight sparkled on the distant waters of Lake Calenhad, and except for the occasional salute from Inquisition soldiers stationed here and there, the people were content to largely ignore them. Varric was just about to suggest that maybe they stop and let Cole get his bearings a little better when the spirit-boy froze.

“That way,” he said urgently, pointing toward the market area.

Even as they approached from a distance, the little group could see that two figures were meeting at the base of the griffon statue. One broke away from the other and walked toward them, offering a shaky sort of greeting. Instantly Cole pounced, alarming the other three with his furious declarations that the man had killed him.

The man looked as confused and terrified as Varric felt. Cole had forced the man to his knees, looking near murderous as he loomed over him.

“Cole, stop!” Solas called. The three of them dashed to Cole’s side and the man took advantage of the lull in the action to escape, even as Cole kept insisting that he had to kill this stranger to make the amulet work.

“I don’t understand,” said Bethany, shaking her head. She looked scared – for Cole and for them. “Cole, who is that man?”

“He killed me. He killed me! That’s why it doesn’t work! He killed me and I have to kill him back!”

“Cole, this man cannot have killed you,” Solas insisted. “You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body.”

“A broken body,” Cole said, his voice pitched low and sad. “Bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank, a captured apostate. They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death.” He gave a little hiccup. “I came through to help... and I couldn’t. So I became him.”

Suddenly, things made a lot more sense to Varric, and he closed his eyes against the comprehension. Even as Solas explained what Cole was saying, the explanation seemed unnecessary. Cole – the _real_ Cole – had been an apostate, little more than a boy, when he was captured by Templars and thrown into the dungeon of the White Spire in Val Royeaux. He was too far away for anyone to hear his cries for help; the Templars had forgotten him there. As he slowly starved to death, a spirit of compassion had been drawn to his plight and tried to help him. When the boy died despite the spirit’s efforts, the spirit had adopted his appearance and mannerisms, becoming the one whom they all knew as Cole. _No wonder he’s so pale and scrawny. The real Cole had no sunlight, no food._

“If Cole was an apostate,” he said slowly, opening his eyes, “that’d make the guy we just saw a Templar. Must’ve been buying lyrium.”

“Let me kill him,” Cole begged. “I need to... I _need_ to.”

None of them had ever heard Cole sound the way he sounded now. His voice was husky with desperation, but more than that, with anger. He stalked away, his large eyes narrowed dangerously.

Bethany’s eyes, meanwhile, were wet as she watched the boy, and she blinked several times in an effort to clear them. At last, she looked at her fellow mage. “Solas?” Her voice was shaky as she asked for his opinion.

“We cannot let Cole kill the man,” he said firmly.

Varric had to forcibly stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I don’t think anyone was going to suggest _that_ , Chuckles.”

“Cole is a spirit,” Solas continued. “The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, Cole must forgive.”

“Come on! You don’t just forgive someone _killing_ you,” Varric protested.

“ _You_ don’t. A spirit can.”

“The kid’s angry! He needs to work through it,” he insisted. He had a little experience with the matter, after all; sure, he had eventually forgiven Bartrand, but he had also killed him back, to use Cole’s words. It was hardly the same thing, given the state Bartrand was in when he did it, but still.

“A spirit does not _work through_ emotions! It _embodies_ them!”

Sunshine was watching them both, and yet it was clear she wasn’t really _seeing_ them even as she listened to their back and forth. “Unfortunately,” she said when there was a break in the argument, “we have entirely too much experience with what happens when spirits are perverted from their purpose.” Her eyes lingered on Varric for a moment. Then, she pressed her palms together, resting her fingertips under her chin as she considered the matter. It was several seconds before she spoke again. “Cole needs to let this go,” she said at last. She looked determined, but also vaguely pained. “I’m sorry, Varric,” she added.

Varric shook his head, faintly disgruntled. “He isn’t a spirit. He made himself human, and humans change. They get hurt, and they heal. He needs to work it out like a person!”

“You would alter the essence of what he is,” Solas protested.

“He did that himself when he left the Fade. I just want to help him survive it.” But he looked at Sunshine, and he saw her expression. “All right. I know when I’m outnumbered.”

“I believe I can help. Cole,” Solas called, walking away from them. Varric and Bethany hung back, waiting.

For a moment, Bethany was silent, watching the direction in which Cole and Solas had disappeared. She rubbed her arms a bit, as if she had caught a chill, making a restless circle in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “I’m sorry,” she repeated at last. “I know you just wanted to help him be human. But...” She moved her shoulders weakly in an almost-shrug. “I think it had to happen like this.”

“We’ve both seen too much.” He left it at that. A moment later, the Templar came toward them, not running but walking quickly; his expression was vacant, slightly confused, and he passed them as if he didn’t even see them. Frowning, Varric jogged in the direction from whence he had come, Bethany at his heels, and found Solas and a visibly altered Cole.

“You all right, Kid?” he asked, gently.

“Yes.” There was, Varric had to admit, a certain serenity in the words. “He’s free. We’re both free.”

* * *

“The amulet appears to be working,” Solas informed them that evening, back at Skyhold. The three of them – Cole’s pseudo parents, for lack of a better description – had gathered in the rotunda to discuss the day’s events. “Cole should be adequately protected.”

“Have you talked to him since?” Varric asked shortly. “Have you heard what he sounds like?” The peaceful quality of the kid’s voice was nice, but it had a tendency to be a little creepy too, like he wasn’t entirely there.

“Yes. He sounds like a spirit.”

Before any of them could say anything further, Cole suddenly appeared on the table where Solas kept his books. “Nonsense words, like Bartrand at the end,” he remarked, almost casually. “‘Just need to hear the song again. Just for a minute.’ I’m all right, Varric.”

Bethany glanced at Varric in unease, as if waiting to see if he would react, but there was determination in her voice as she spoke. “What matters is his happiness,” she said. Shifting her gaze towards Cole, she added, “Cole, how are you feeling?”

“I am well.” It was going to take Varric a while to adjust to the kid’s new way of talking. “There is work, wounded to help, hurts to heal, but the weight is off. The old chains have fallen.”

“You’re not still angry with the man who hurt you?” Varric asked curiously.

“No. I helped him forget. His pain no longer pulls at me.” He rambled a bit longer, something about a knife in the darkness and honey in Leliana’s wine, and then he was gone.

Varric sighed. “He could have been a person.”

“Perhaps,” said Solas. “Would that have made him happier, child of the Stone?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

Sunshine, who had observed the exchange in silence, merely sighed. “Thank you for all your help, Solas,” she said. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. It’s been a long day; I imagine we could all use some rest.” He nodded to both of them, and Varric had the strangest feeling like he’d just been dismissed from some sort of royal presence or something.

Bethany gave the elf a weak smile before retreating from the rotunda, holding the door open for Varric as she did so. When they were back outside by the fireplace, Bethany rubbed her palms together almost nervously. “You’re not angry with me, are you?”

“Sunshine, I don’t think there’s a man alive who has the capacity to be angry with you,” he replied. “Look, I’m disappointed. I can’t even explain _why_ I’m so disappointed, not exactly. But no, I’m not angry.”

That seemed to soothe her, at least mostly, and she sat down in her usual chair at his writing table. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. That was never my intention.”

“I know.” He hesitated. “He’s right, though. Cole, I mean. Part of why this bothers me so much is because it made me think about Bartrand, and I try so hard not to think about Bartrand.”

“I know.” She reached out to take his hand, giving it a squeeze. “But Cole isn’t Bartrand, and he isn’t Anders. We aren’t going to let those things happen to anyone else, I promise.”

Varric nodded, slowly, and squeezed her fingers in return. “Yeah. You’re right. And maybe this _was_ what was best for him... I don’t understand this magic shit, you know that. Dwarves don’t throw fire and whatever. Like you said... what matters is his happiness.”

She nodded too. “I can’t help but think of what Solas said – that him being human may not have made him happier. It’s just... interesting.”

“To be fair, I’m not sure being human would make _me_ happier either,” he joked.

“No. In fact, I don’t recommend it,” she joked back, some of the usual brightness coming back into her eyes. It was clear this event would follow her for a little while, as they always did, but she seemed a bit better already.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it’s like I told you before – I sometimes forget that you’re not just an unusually tall dwarf.”

Bethany laughed pleasantly at that. “Thank you for sticking by me, even when you don’t agree with me.”

“Always, Sunshine. So,” he said, releasing her hand a touch belatedly, “tell me about this snowy wyvern heart you had to go and collect; you went without me, and I need to get the details right for the book later.”

“Does this mean you _are_ writing a book about the Inquisition?”

“Let’s just say I’m keeping my options open.”


	23. We're All Dreadful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets a letter from Mae, and Bethany plays Wicked Grace with her friends in a tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done moving! Today we got the internet turned on at the new place, so to celebrate, have a new chapter. :)

Why Horizon was the one to bring him his mail most of the time, Varric wasn’t sure. She was one of Nightingale’s people, acting like she worked for Ruffles; maybe a lot of people couldn’t tell the difference, but he could. He wondered if having a spy interact with him so often was Leliana’s way of keeping tabs on him.

 “A letter for you, Lord Varric,” the girl said by way of a greeting.

He groaned, both at the name and at the idea of the letter. “If it’s another summons to a Merchants’ Guild meeting, please just add it to the kindling box. If it’s a bill, you can put it on the table.”

“Uh... no, messere. It’s from Tevinter. Magister Tilani.”

“Mae wrote? Oh, I’ll look at that one, thanks.” Varric accepted the letter and broke the seal.

 

> _My dear Varric,_
> 
> _I’m so fascinated by the things you tell me about your Inquisition! You have such grand adventures. And yes, I did respond to your Commander Cullen’s assistance with a token of my appreciation. Dorian has told me that the man is exceptionally attractive, although also taken._
> 
> _Speaking of Dorian, he writes almost as glowingly of your fair Inquisitor as you yourself do. I know you’ve known Bethany for a long time and that she’s very dear to you; I can only imagine how she finds the courage to face things every day, based on what you’ve told me about everything she’s endured. I’m sure she’s grateful to have you, in any event. Of course, we all are, sweet, but I daresay she has more reason than most._
> 
> _You should do something for her, I think. Something to lift her spirits, perhaps remind her that she’s less alone than she probably sometimes feels. No matter how much we are loved by the people around us, when we’re grieving a deeply personal loss, it’s easy to forget that and to feel like we’re alone in our pain. I think you understand that as well as I do. So a little something special, before you set off on your jaunt into the wilds or wherever you’re going, would be just the thing._
> 
> _Hopefully this letter finds you before you go. Please be careful, and do write me again when you get the chance, to let me know you’re in one piece. And in the meantime, take good care of your precious girl. You won’t find another one like her._
> 
> _Love, Mae_

 

Varric rolled his eyes in amusement as he finished reading the note. Trust Mae to try to direct his social life from a few thousand miles away. Ah, he did miss her. He wasn’t completely sure whether ‘your precious girl’ was a reference to his crossbow or his Inquisitor, but he supposed Mae’s sentiment was largely the same either way.

He tapped the scrolled parchment against his lips thoughtfully. That was actually not a bad idea, really – doing something for Bethany. The trek to the Arbor Wilds was practically at hand; all of their allies were on the move and Curly was heading out in a day or so with the Inquisition troops. Leliana’s fastest agents were already on the ground. Add the recent Blackwall business (the Cole business wasn’t common knowledge), plus everything which had already come to pass, and the result was a recipe for a very tense atmosphere in Skyhold. Everything had a sort of arrested feel to it, like they were all waiting for something they weren’t completely sure was going to happen. Doing something to help ease the tension, even for a little while, made a lot of sense.

The only real stumbling block was deciding what to do.

Going anywhere was out of the question. With so much travel as lay immediately before them, there was no time and there were no mounts to be spared. The possibility of, for instance, a night of fine dining in Val Royeaux was therefore not an option. No, it had to be something in Skyhold itself.

 _Well, when in doubt, play to your strengths_ , he thought.

* * *

“Cabot.”

“Varric.”

“Kind of need a favor.”

“I’m listening.”

Varric sat down at the bar. “I want to clear out the tavern tonight for a private party.”

“How do you expect me to do _that_?”

“Just put the word out that you’re closing at seven. It’s a sort of surprise for the Inquisitor.”

Cabot hesitated. “It’s not her birthday, right? Because a lot of people will be a little bit pissed that they didn’t get her anything.”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Varric paused. “Although thanks for the reminder, that _is_ coming up soonish. No, this is just a sort of last hurrah with her pals before we head down to the overgrown forest. You don’t even need to stick around for it, I’m pretty sure we all understand how the tap works. Consider it a night off.”

“I guess I can work with this.”

“You know I’m good for it.”

“And you know I’ll be sending you the bill as soon as I figure out how much you all drink tonight.”

The first objective completed, Varric began to extend invitations to the chosen. Since he was already in the Herald’s Rest, it seemed like the logical place to start. “Tiny, you have plans tonight?”

The Iron Bull raised his horned head and squinted with his lone eye. “No more than usual. You have something in mind, Varric?”

“Wicked Grace here in the tavern. Little surprise for our beloved Inquisitor. You in?”

“Yeah, absolutely. When?”

“I’m thinking around eight. Well after dinner.”

“Works for me. I’ll just... stay here, then.” Bull chuckled.

* * *

The first few invitations were simple to offer. Sera was as eager as Bull had been; Dorian got along with just about everybody in the ‘inner circle’ and was perfectly willing; Cole almost didn’t need to be asked, they could just sort of expect him to be there.

He didn’t ask Vivienne, but that was mostly because she was in seclusion for a few days. According to Sunshine, that snowy wyvern heart was supposed to save the life of her darling Duke de Ghislain, but it wasn’t administered in time, or something. Varric didn’t know the specifics, but Duke Bastien had died and Vivienne had requested that she be left alone until it was time to leave for the Wilds. Part of him felt wildly resentful that she was being given this consideration when _Bethany_ had been forced by circumstance to delay her own bereavement. Like so many other things about the whole situation, it was nothing even close to fair. But that wasn’t the Iron Lady’s fault, and he wasn’t about to act as though it was, so he avoided her balcony accordingly.

Solas was a lost cause, and he knew that going in, but he tendered the invitation anyway just to be polite. “You sure we can’t tempt you, Chuckles?”

“The offer is appreciated,” came the reply, “but I really must finish my current reading before we depart for the Arbor Wilds. If the witch is correct about what we may find there, and I have reason to believe she is, then any additional information I can research about the worship of Mythal may be of some assistance.”

There was something just faintly shifty in the elf’s expression as he said this. Varric listened internally; his bullshit meter was vibrating quietly, but it wasn’t a klaxon sort of clanging like he’d had, for example, when they first met Alexius. Whatever secret Solas was keeping, it could be safely ignored, at least for the time being. “Well, suit yourself.”

The real challenge, he realized as he made his way outside, was going to be Blackwall. Sure, he’d been formally pardoned by ‘the boss,’ as Bull called Bethany, and he continued to fight as one of them. But while no one outright objected to the Inquisitor’s judgment, not everyone was exactly thrilled with it. Cullen and Cassandra, for example, barely acknowledged the man’s existence anymore. Varric thought this was a bit unfair – as Dorian had pointed out to Bethany when she was agonizing over what to do, none of them really had unblemished pasts. In particular, Curly seemed to be on a permanent crusade to atone for whatever wrongs he had committed back in Kirkwall, or wherever, so it was kind of a surprise that he would be so reluctant to show Blackwall the same courtesy. Curly’s anger was of a calmer and quieter sort, however; he might just need time. The Seeker, on the other hand, was white-hot about her indignance, and although she _said_ she would tolerate him for the sake of the Inquisition’s goals, her _manners_ indicated otherwise.

(Of course, he could only guess at anyone’s reasoning. It wasn’t as though most of his friends had actually sat down with him and explained why they felt the way they did; only Bethany ever really did that, or – much more rarely – Dorian. For the rest, he was left with a writer’s speculation and the occasional hint from Cole.)

The once and future Warden was chopping firewood near the lower bailey’s well, and Varric approached him slowly, like he was a druffalo calf known to startle easily. Maybe this would go better if he’d thought to bring some sugar cubes. “For what it’s worth,” he said as he got close enough to be heard, “I think maybe I was too hard on you.”

“Oh, so you don't think I'm dreadful now?” The other man looked puzzled, and only slightly suspicious.

“Actually, I thought you were boring before,” Varric corrected him. “Completely different. We're _all_ dreadful. Every one of us, fundamentally flawed in a hundred different ways – well, all of us except the Inquisitor, of course.”

“Of course.” Blackwall actually managed to sound a little amused.

“That's why we're here, isn't it? Take all the risks, so the good people stay home where it's safe. With the whole ‘Blackwall’ thing, you told a story so compelling, even _you_ started to believe it.”

“Well, that’s much nicer than saying ‘You’re a dirty liar.’ I’ll take it.”

Varric shrugged. “A storyteller’s got to believe his own story, or no one will.”

“So is that what you came down here to tell me? That I’m not boring?” Blackwall leaned on the handle of the axe, watching him.

“That, and also to ask you how you’d feel about joining some of us for a game of Wicked Grace tonight.” Varric hesitated. “It’s supposed to be a gathering of Sunshine’s closest friends, before we go marching off to war, but all things considered...”

“All things considered, it’s probably a very good idea – and my staying away is also a very good idea.” In all the months he’d known the man, Varric had never him speak in a humbler tone than the one he was using now, and that was saying something. “I know you mean well by asking me. I appreciate it more than I can say. But I won’t ask the lady to choose between her friends.”

“Yeah, I... yeah. You’re right.”

“Thank you anyway.”

“Well, thank you for not putting her in that position.”

“I’ve great admiration for the Lady Inquisitor. That’s never changed.” Blackwall shrugged, and hefted the axe again. “She’s an honorable, principled woman, and we – and _you_ – are lucky to have her.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me that as if I don’t know?” Varric chuckled, thinking of Mae’s letter. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

* * *

Leliana no; Josephine yes. Cassandra yes, once she confirmed that Blackwall was a no. Cullen yes, if somewhat reluctantly. All in all, the turnout was slated to be good. The only thing left was to find Her Sunny Worship and get her to join the party.

It was nearly time to start when he finally located her, out in the castle courtyard. He wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d been talking to Morrigan or meditating in the little chantry; both, maybe, though obviously not at the same time. Whichever was the case, Bethany was crossing the courtyard in the direction of the great hall, and a small smile broke over her features when she caught sight of him.

“There you are,” Varric said with a grin. “We almost had to start without you.”

“Who’s we? And start what?”

He said nothing, just motioned for her to follow him. She trailed behind him as he made his way to the tavern; Cabot, he saw, was as good as his word. No one was present except those he had invited, although by the look of things, Buttercup had gotten too far into her tankard already and was asleep under the table. “I found her, Ruffles,” Varric called. “Deal us in.”

Bethany’s eyes grew wide as she took in the scene and realized just what Varric had planned. “Wicked Grace with my friends in a tavern,” she said, softly. “I don’t think I’ve played Wicked Grace with friends in a tavern since... since before I went to the Circle. Oh, _Varric..._ ” One soft hand curled itself over her mouth.

It was true, and he hadn’t even realized it when he came up with the idea. He had just been thinking it would be nice – the significance of the event had never crossed his mind. He certainly didn’t expect to see tiny jewels of tears in the corners of her big brown eyes. Giving himself a little shake, he offered her a charming smile. “Just a little something before we all drag ourselves off into the wilderness. Have a seat, Sunshine, I’ll get you a drink.”

Bull sat at one end of the table, Cassandra at the other. Bethany took the empty seat next to Josephine, nodding at each of her companions in turn, and accepted the cards she’d been dealt. As Varric filled a mug for her, and then one for himself, he watched her study the cards and laugh at something Dorian said. In his mind, unbidden, he could see a stained table in a creaky, smelly watering hole, with a black-haired rogue holding court and flanked by his brother and sister. They’d all been so much younger, then. The whole world had been younger.

* * *

“I really shouldn’t have let Cullen bet his armor,” Bethany noted idly, later.

The card game had lasted for a good four hours, with storytelling and laughter padding each hand, and the ale flowed freely. Some of it, apparently, had gone to the commander’s head. It was the only reason Varric could imagine for why he’d bet his entire ensemble against whatever had been in Josephine’s hand.

“Give him credit where credit’s due,” the dwarf remarked. “He didn’t try to weasel out of it once he knew he’d lost.”

“True.” The evening had ended when everyone at the table (except for a thoroughly amused Iron Bull) had turned away in order to not watch Cullen’s bare ass bolt out of the tavern like it was on fire. The rest of the group had then wandered off in the direction of sleeping quarters, not necessarily their own; only Bethany and Varric remained conversing at the fire. “I’m sure Josephine will see that his things are returned to him,” Bethany added.

“Probably. Ruffles is a lady. So... how are you feeling about everything, Sunshine? You ready to take on whatever’s waiting for us in the wilds?”

“I suppose I’m as ready as I can be, all things considered.” She sighed. “Though I do wonder what comes afterward. You know, assuming we win the day and everything. How do I...”

Varric frowned slightly when she paused. “Go on.”

“How do I go back to being just – well, me? I’ve been the Herald and the Inquisitor for months now. I’m not sure I remember what it’s like to be just Bethany Hawke anymore, especially since I’m... what’s the phrase? The last of the kettle?”

It took him a few seconds to understand her meaning, but then he remembered that a _kettle_ was the formal name for a group of hawks. “You know,” he said, “I think when this is all over, you should take a break. Go to Val Royeaux for a week or two and spend some time shopping. Get yourself a few of those dresses you always said you wanted.”

Bethany brightened somewhat at the suggestion, and giggled. “Perhaps they’ll have a burlap sack in my size.”

“Anything’s possible. You could start a new trend.” Varric chuckled. “I’ll even finance the trip, if need be. My publisher should be making good on the Orlesian book sales, now that I’ve sent my editor to ‘negotiate.’ Val Royeaux’s a little frilly for my tastes, but I could stand to walk down a city street like a normal tourist. Just promise to protect me from any autograph hounds.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Her smile was a bit lopsided. “How do you always know how to make me feel better?”

“It’s a talent. Carefully cultivated and honed over years of experience.”

“Well, I’m very lucky you put so much effort into it, and I’ll always try to return the favor.” She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but instead she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Varric. Thank you.”

“Any time, Sunshine,” he promised. “Any time.”


	24. The Temple of Elfy Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arbor Wilds. Varric greatly disapproves, and Bethany reunites with an old acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that Varric actually has a canon line where he calls it "the Temple of Elfy Shit." I couldn't use the line itself in the chapter, but at least it made titling it very easy. Thank you to all of my wonderful readers and reviewers for keeping me going!

The Arbor Wilds were well named, really. Since the word _arbor_ basically referred to a garden, and the region was exceedingly wild and overgrown, it made perfect sense. The greenery was abundant, exotic, and almost stiflingly humid; the heat made the water in the ponds and streams turn to steam, but the tree cover overhead was so thick that the steam had nowhere to go, and it stayed below to choke the Inquisitor and her friends.

They reached the base camp about a week after the Wicked Grace game, and it didn’t take long for Varric to notice a few things that could be described as being out of the ordinary. One of these was Empress Celene, standing around in a ballgown as though that was perfectly normal attire for the jungle. “I know Orlesians are weird and put entirely too much emphasis on their costumes,” he muttered, “but isn’t she taking it a little too far?”

“The woman is renowned for being a peacemonger, a patroness of the arts, and continuously well dressed,” Dorian replied with a shrug. “I suppose she has a reputation to maintain even here.”

They lingered among the tents and trebuchets, waiting while Bethany greeted one of her lieutenants, then spoke with Morrigan, the Empress, and Josephine in turn. By all accounts, things were going tolerably well for their side of the fighting, but the Inquisitor and her personal crew were needed to bolster the offense.

“I’m going to need new boots when this is all over,” Varric grumbled. The trail was slick with mud and he greatly disapproved. “I guess it’s too much to hope we might be back in Skyhold for happy hour.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bethany retorted lightly. “That depends entirely on which day’s happy hour you had in mind.”

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle at that. “Fair point, Sunshine. Well, one last push and we can lick our wounds... I wonder if Corypheus will show.”

They passed a group of soldiers, one of whom was asking about ‘General Cullen.’ Another soldier made a remark about the commander having slept roughly an hour at a time since they got to the Wilds. “Maker, to have that kind of stamina.”

Varric glanced at Dorian, whose mustache was twitching as he fought down a laugh. “Don’t say it, Sparkler – we’re both thinking it, but don’t say it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of voicing my thoughts,” Dorian replied, chuckling. “Though I do find myself wondering if you plan on adding the good commander and his _inamorata_ to your next foray into romantic literature.”

“I hadn’t really planned on ever touching that genre again.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Varric, but as a devotee of the written word, I am exceptionally grateful for that.”

* * *

It was a long, weird slog through the Wilds. That there would be Red Templars, everybody had expected. That there would be Grey Wardens didn’t come as a surprise either; they’d liberated (or killed) the majority of them at Adamant, but Corypheus apparently retained his hold on the minds of the mages, and they still served him with the same blind fervor they had applied to their insane ritual. But nobody, on either side of the skirmish, had been prepared to encounter a bunch of armored elves, who seemed to be dashing in and out of the fray at odd intervals and attacking everybody. On the one hand, good on them for not playing favorites; on the other hand, who _were_ they?

“Perhaps,” Morrigan commented as they walked, “these creatures are the reason that so few have returned from visiting the Wilds.”

“If they want it, I say we let them have it,” Sera grunted. “Stupid elfy elves.”

“Them, yes. Corypheus, no,” Bethany returned firmly. “First we drive out him and his little friends, then we leave the elves in peace.”

“A kind thought, Inquisitor,” said Solas, “but I regret to say they do not seem open to discussion.”

“I don’t suppose you could speak to them, Solas?”

“They have yet to let any of us get close enough to even try,” put in Cassandra, before she uttered a small groan. “Ready yourselves! Here come more of the Red Templars!”

“Anybody else starting to feel like they’re in one of Varric’s books?” shouted Bull. “Bad guys showing up out of nowhere?”

“See, Tiny? And you wanted me to explain that!”

Somehow, in the midst of all the fighting, Varric managed to hear a single line of enemy dialogue. Maybe it was just a bit of lucky timing, or maybe it was his ego latching onto something about himself. Whatever the case, the words reached his ears with overwhelming clarity: “ _Kill the dwarf!_ ”

“Bianca, baby,” he muttered, “this might be the end of it... but we’re gonna take as many of them with us as we can.” He started firing at pretty much any flashes of red which crossed his vision, fervently grateful that none of his companions wore the color. One of the Red Templars was shaking violently, a sure sign that the red lyrium was letting him erupt into a behemoth; another of the same stripe emerged from the trees and began swinging a massive claw-shaped hand into the ground, causing spikes of red lyrium crystals to erupt like crops of pure evil.

Where the rest of the Inquisitor’s team was, Varric hadn’t any idea. He stumbled backward, still firing, letting his back come to rest against the trunk of an enormous tree. The behemoths were closing ranks; there might even have been a third in the near distance, he wasn’t entirely sure. All the red, starkly contrasting against the green of the Wilds, was making his vision start to blur, and he was counting on Bianca to keep him alive as long as she could. Maybe help was coming; maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d outlived his usefulness and the Maker was finally going to collect. He stumbled over tree roots, landing awkwardly, but managed to keep firing.

And then he heard it... the worst sound in the entire world.

Bianca was out of bolts.

He was pulling the trigger and nothing was happening.

In desperation, Varric hurled a flask at his attackers, releasing a small storm of bees as the glass shattered. (He never did understand how the bees knew to attack the enemies, but not the members of the Inquisition. It made no logical sense. But he wasn’t complaining.) The little black cloud of angry buzzing obscured the behemoths’ faces, but it would only distract them for a few minutes at best, so he worked feverishly to reload before they regained their equilibrium. His hands shook, drenched with sweat inside the leather gloves, and it made him clumsy and awkward.

No, there wasn’t enough time. The behemoths were still pressing the advance, swatting the bees with their thick hands as they lumbered forward, and it would be a matter of seconds before they were on him. He wondered where anyone was, hoping against hope that at least the others were safe, and prepared to surrender to the inevitable.

Except... they were slowing down, suddenly. Varric raised his head. Some kind of – he didn’t know what else to call it – magical vortex had shimmered into existence behind the behemoths, and now it was swirling angrily and drawing them toward its center. They roared in frustration, unable to comprehend just what was hindering their progress, but the roars were cut short as they were abruptly pummeled to the ground by a second display of magic. To his surprise, Varric dimly recognized both spells. They were fairly unusual even among people who could use magic, being things which only a Force mage could do.

And he only knew one Force mage.

Staggering to his feet, the crossbow in his hands once again loaded and ready to rage, Varric looked across the grounds to where she stood. He had rarely seen Bethany look so furious or so terrified, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing her be both at the same time. Dorian was backing her up, lashing out at the fallen behemoths with his lightning spells, and between these and Varric’s renewed ammunition, the monsters were soon nothing more than a smear on the ground.

“You’ve got quite some timing, Milady Sunshine,” he called with relief, putting Bianca back into her resting position. “Are you two all right?”

“We’re fine,” Dorian replied, watching as Bethany picked her way over the forest floor toward Varric. “I daresay our enemies have learned an important lesson today – touch the dwarf at your own peril.” He smoothed his mustache, looking thoroughly amused.

Sunshine, meanwhile, reached Varric and studied his face anxiously. “Did they hurt you? Do you need healing?”

“Nah. Nothing worth mentioning, Sunshine, I’m okay.”

She heaved a sigh and, apparently giving in to the urge before she could think better of it, flung her arms around his neck for a moment. “I thought I might lose you,” she admitted in low tones, the words quivering over his ear. “I can’t lose you too.”

“Hey...” He patted her back gently. “Everything’s all right. I’m not going anywhere. Made a promise, didn’t I?”

“Yes... yes, you did.” She drew back, and sniffed, and rolled her shoulders as though giving herself a shake. “Let’s – let’s go find the others, and see if we can breathe for a minute.”

* * *

The path ahead was relatively clear, thanks in part to the valor of Empress Celene’s people, and they hailed the Inquisitor and her retinue as they passed. Solas was largely monopolizing Bethany’s attention as they walked, though Varric couldn’t hear the substance of their conversation (and didn’t have sufficient interest to try and eavesdrop).

“I could not help observing something, Varric,” said Cassandra quietly, falling in step where he could hear her. “Those Templars – they sought to kill you specifically.”

“Seeker, you may not have noticed this, but a lot of people think I’m a much easier target than I actually am. It’s part of my advantage.”

“No, I mean... I heard them. One of them. Someone said to ‘kill the dwarf,’ and you’re the only one we have.”

“I heard it too,” said Bull. “Wasn’t sure at first, with all the cannon fire and ruckus going on, but it sounded like they were out to get you in particular.”

Varric bit back a scowl. “Are either of you going somewhere with this?”

“Corypheus knows who you are.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think Cassandra was chewing on her lower lip, but that was too endearing a character tic to belong to the Seeker.

“Of course he does. I was there when he woke up, don’t forget. If he remembers Sunshine – and she said he did – then he probably remembers me too.”

“What I mean to say,” she said, and there was a certain sort of delicacy to her tone, “is that he knows who you are...  _to Bethany_. If you were to be killed in battle, the Inquisitor would be so heavily demoralized that I do not know if she could recover. For that reason, I suspect Corypheus has ordered his forces to try and eliminate you if they cannot eliminate her.”

“Well. Shit.” Varric almost stopped walking in shock. How had this never dawned on him? It made perfect sense that Corypheus would be looking for any possible advantage over Bethany. It might even be the reason she was still single – getting romantically involved with someone could paint a target on their back. There was no way _he_ could escape from such a thing, of course, their history and bond being what they were, but she was selfless enough to resist pulling anyone else into such a predicament.

“Guess that means we just have to keep an eye on you,” Bull teased him. “Can’t let the boss be dwarfless, now, can we?”

* * *

Their reunion with Cullen was brief, action-packed, and good-natured. Both his own armored sweetheart and Cassandra’s knife-wielding elf were on hand for the battle with Corypheus’s forces, which ranged over a number of crumbling Dalish ruins. The Inquisitor had a short conversation with her commander, and they all waved at Leliana, who was wielding her bow and arrows with deadly accuracy from a high vantage point.

Once they were actually inside the building, Varric quite honestly paid as little attention as possible to much of anything. Solas and Morrigan were growing increasingly hostile in their efforts to out-explain each other, and frankly, he didn’t really care about any of what they were saying. He could appreciate the architecture just fine without having to hear insufferable arguments about it.

Seeing Corypheus for the first time since the Vimmarks, though... he couldn’t be apathetic about that. They crouched on a balcony overlooking some kind of walkway, where Samson and his crazy master were tormenting the ancient elves, and talking about something called the Well. Varric could see Bethany’s eyes growing wider the longer she stared at the monstrosity below them. Some elven gizmo on the walkway started making a noise, and suddenly, a bolt of magic erupted from it and fried Corypheus on the spot. Instinctively he covered Bethany’s mouth, thinking she was on the verge of crying out in horror, but maybe that was because he felt the impulse to do likewise.

She pulled his hand away from her lips, looking only mildly annoyed. “What _was_ that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Sunshine. I guess Mythal had something to say after all.” She was still crouched, and he helped her to stand. “Come on, let’s go spit on the ashes or something.”

The group carefully picked their way down to whatever was left of Corypheus, and – _nobody is going to believe this shit, my editor is going to rip me a new one_ – basically got there in time to watch one of the few remaining enslaved Wardens mutate horribly as the ancient magister took over his body. Varric thought, briefly, that he caught a glimpse of weird black-and-white striped stockings, but that made no sense at all and he decided he was just hallucinating from the stress of having witnessed too many unbelievable things for one lifetime. Then the dragon showed up, and they hardly needed Bethany to tell them to run.

Nobody really said anything until they were on the far side of the walkway, and had shut the doors right in the face of the Elder One’s screeching friend. “Amazing how he’s still mangled in the exact same way even though he’s in somebody else’s body now,” Dorian wheezed, leaning against the doors.

“Yeah. This is at least the second time he’s pulled this trick,” Varric replied. “We’re pretty sure that’s how he escaped when we killed him in the prison – he just hopped into the nearby Warden.”

“That was different, though,” said Bethany, frowning. “We had no idea he’d done any such thing, because Larius didn’t look any different. The poor fellow whose body he stole a few minutes ago had his entire appearance subsumed by Corypheus.”

“You’re right, Sunshine, but let’s not think about it too hard. I feel like if I spend too much energy trying to figure out how Corypheus does anything, my brain tries to turn itself inside out.”

“Can he do it to any blighted creature, I wonder,” said Morrigan. “Perhaps this is the reason the Wardens had him imprisoned – perhaps they knew he was capable of such a thing, but not how it was accomplished.”

“It would explain why they thought it was impossible to kill him.” Vivienne shrugged lightly. “Let’s hope they were wrong in that regard, for all our sakes.”

“Meanwhile, what is this Well of which they were speaking?” asked Cassandra. “The elves are determined to deny both Samson and his master access to it, but what _is_ it?”

“I suspect our answers lie further in,” Morrigan replied. “Samson is already on the move through the temple – I suggest we try to close the distance between him and ourselves.”

* * *

They didn’t, not exactly. Instead, while Samson and some of his men jumped into a hole in the floor to apparently travel through the temple’s basement ( _temples have basements?_ ), the Inquisition forces dealt with the Templars he’d left behind before finding themselves confronting a series of floor puzzles. Varric watched, bemused, as his favorite mage traced patterns of light across intricately carved tiles, changing them from blue to yellow.

Bethany glanced in his direction, caught him watching, and smiled. “Going to make a comment about me turning the floor to sunshine, or something like that?”

“You have to admit, it’s kind of a useful trick. But what the heck are these puzzles _for_?”

“Mythal was an arbiter,” Solas replied. “The mother of her people, dispenser of justice for the wronged. Petitioners who wished an audience with her would first have walked these paths as a demonstration of obeisance before being admitted.”

With the third such puzzle completed, the mages noted sensing a change in the air as something came unlocked. Sure enough, a door – previously concealed by some kind of force field – was now accessible, and they made their way into an audience chamber, or something like one. “’Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan commented. “What was this chamber used for?”

“Not to make anyone nervous, but I think we’re being watched,” Bethany muttered. Sure enough, Varric turned around to find that some more of the armored elves had materialized from out of nowhere and had arrows aimed at all of them. He was mostly just surprised that they weren’t firing; up to this point, they hadn’t seemed to have any second thoughts about attacking the Inquisitor and her friends.

Turning back toward what seemed to be the focal point of the room, he saw another elf standing on a platform above them. Although all of the armored elves had hoods like mages sometimes wore, this one allowed his face to be seen more clearly, and he made some kind of condescending gesture. “ _Venavis_ ,” he said in a haughty tone, his focus exclusively on Bethany. “You... are unlike the other invaders. You bear the mark of magic, which is... familiar.” She glanced at her green-tinted left hand, but said nothing. “How has this come to pass?” the elf continued. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

“They’re our enemies,” Sunshine explained. “We never intended to disturb you, or show any kind of disrespect to this place. We just wanted to stop them.”

The elf looked like he thought a little better of her for saying so, although maybe that was wishful thinking. While he introduced himself – his name was Abelas, he was a sentinel, and so on – Varric squinted up at his features. The hood didn’t completely obscure his face, which was pale and pointed and marked with a green tattoo shaped like a tree. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but it seemed as though he bore some small resemblance to Solas, actually; maybe they were some kind of distant cousins. He seemed to think Bethany wanted to drink from something called the Vir’Abelasan, and Varric wasn’t even sure what that was, although Morrigan looked kind of excited about it.

“I’m not here to fight your people,” Bethany promised. “And I don’t want to steal from your temple. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Corypheus and Samson – I’m just here to stop them.”

Abelas, much to Varric’s surprise, gave a little nod. “I believe you. Trespassers you are, but you have followed rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal.”

“I guess he means those floor puzzles,” Varric said. “Good job working them out, Sunshine.”

“Thanks.”

“If these others are enemies of yours,” Abelas added, “we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you will be permitted to depart – and never return.”

“Works for me,” Bull offered quietly.

“This is our goal, is it not?” Solas asked urgently. “There is no need to fight these Sentinels.”

Bethany nodded. “That seems fair to me. We accept.”

“You will be guided to those you seek,” said Abelas. “As for the Vir’Abelasan, it will not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.” He turned and walked out of the room.

“No!” shouted Morrigan. There was a burst of purple smoke and suddenly, she was a bird, flying after Abelas.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Blackwall muttered. The armored elves with the bows basically vanished, but meanwhile, a set of doors to one side of the room opened and revealed another elf. This one carried a book and leaned heavily on a stick.

“They left someone behind,” said Varric, nudging Bethany. “A handy guide, maybe?”

“ _Mythal’enaste,_ ” the elf replied. The voice sounded female, he thought, although what that word meant, he didn’t know. Hopefully it meant something like ‘yes.’

“Well, Abelas did say we’d be guided to Samson,” she said. “We can’t follow him or Morrigan – we may as well finish what we started by coming here. Let’s go, everyone, and stay alert.”

“She turned into a bird,” said Cole, sounding a little dazed.

* * *

The guide led them through the temple, which was in pretty decent shape compared to the rest of the elven ruins they’d visited. It was certainly surviving a lot better than that Din’an Hanin place in the Emerald Graves, or the Cradle of Sulevin, to name just two. Most of the elven ruins were cracking, crumbling, being torn to shreds by invasive greenery; such was the natural order of things, Varric supposed. But the Temple of Mythal was different. Maybe it was different because of the ancient elves who still lived inside of it, or maybe they were able to live inside of it because it was different. He honestly couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t sure it mattered anyway. It was different, that’s all he knew for sure.

They wandered through gilt-edged halls and up flights of stone steps, past mosaics depicting... well, something. There seemed to be a lot of statues of a woman with wings instead of arms, which was a little creepy. Finally, though, they reached a corridor with two sets of doors, one on either side of one of those statues, and the guide said something incomprehensible. She pointed at the doors with her staff before walking away.

The doors led out into something like a courtyard, filled with even more of the lush greenery that surrounded the temple, and a set of stairs leading down to a waterway. They could hear Samson exulting to his men as they made their way to confront him; something about them being fierce as dragons, or whatever. Then one of the men tipped him off to their approach, and he turned.

“Inquisitor,” he said dryly. “You’ve hunted us half across Thedas – I should’ve guessed you’d follow us into this hole.”

“It’s been a long time, Messere Samson,” Bethany replied politely. “Do you remember me?”

“Oh, aye, I do,” he said. “A long time indeed, since they plucked you out of the Gallows and held you prisoner on the Wounded Coast. I remember the look on your brother’s face when he came to save you, he was ready to kill.” He offered her a slightly mocking bow. “I understand condolences are in order. I respected the Champion, for what it’s worth – he was an honorable sort.”

“You were too, once upon a time,” she returned. “Garrett saw it. When you brought Cullen out to where they held me, he spoke up on your behalf and got you reinstated to the shield. What happened to you?”

“ _Kirkwall_ happened to me. _The Chantry_ happened to me,” he growled. “ _Meredith_ happened to me. But Corypheus chose me twice – first as his general, now as the vessel for the Well of Sorrows. You know what’s inside the Well, little Hawke? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour the world. I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious Anchor.”

“You’re a vessel?” she repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“What else empties a well?” Samson replied. “I’ll carry its power to Corypheus – one more task entrusted to me.” He snorted. “Being force-fed Chantry lyrium was good for something. This armor makes me a living fortress, mind and body. I won’t forget a word of the Well’s knowledge, and Corypheus will be unstoppable. Not even you will be able to get in his way.”

“And you think I’m going to just... what? Let you do this?”

Samson growled again, and his armor made a sort of crack like it was growing larger around him. “ _This_ ,” he said, “is the strength the Chantry tried to bind. But it’s a new world now, with a new god.” He was _glowing_. Creepy. “So, Inquisitor,” he continued, “how will this go?”

“I’ve a reputation for mercy, Samson,” Bethany replied lightly, “thanks to my one-man public relations team, here.” She nudged Varric, then pulled a round something or other from a pouch on her belt. “So to answer your question, this will go as quickly and painlessly as I’m able to make it.” With these words, she twitched the disc in her fingers, and Samson’s armor stopped doing much of anything at all. From there, despite his howls of rage and demands to know what she had done, it was no great task to kill his remaining Red Templars and subdue Samson himself for transport back to Skyhold.

“Useful trick, that,” said Dorian. “Exactly what did you just do?”

“A little while back, Cullen was able to use the intelligence we gathered in the Graves and the Emprise to track Samson to his base of operations,” Bethany explained, healing a cut on Cassandra’s hand. “It was in an ancient shrine to Dumat, the god for whom Corypheus was the high priest back in ancient Tevinter. The place was mostly destroyed, but we were able to recover the tools belonging to Maddox, Samson’s tranquil. Dagna used them to make a special rune that could neutralize the power of Samson’s armor.”

“When was that?” Varric looked baffled. “And why is this the first we’re hearing about it?”

“It was while we were in the Deep Roads,” she clarified. “Cullen learned of the shrine’s location right before we were slated to leave for the Storm Coast, so rather than have me accompany him, he and some of his fellow ex-Templars took care of things while we were underground.”

“Not just the ex-Templars,” said Cassandra. She actually looked faintly amused. “His sweetheart accompanied him as well. As did, erm, her friend, the elf.”

“You mean _your_ sweetheart?” Dorian teased her.

“Nobody asked you, _Tevinter_.”

“From what he told me when we got back,” Bethany interjected in a raised voice, “Samson more or less expected Cullen to be the one to come and find them – he even left him a letter.” She shook her head. “It really hurt him, I think. They used to be friends.”

Before anyone could question the matter farther, however, Abelas suddenly burst into the scene. A giant pile of rocks was growing behind him, and he turned to race up these to the elevated platform where Samson had indicated the Well of Sorrows could be found. With varying levels of grace or clumsiness, the Inquisition members chased after him, arriving in time to find Morrigan – once again in human form – standing between him and some water.

“That’s the Well of Sorrows?” Varric muttered. It looked like a large stone-lined basin, similar to those he had seen in particularly nice bath houses. “You’re telling us that Corypheus came here to steal Mythal’s old swimming pool?”

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor,” Morrigan snapped. “He seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.”

Abelas heaved a dramatic sigh. “So, the sanctum is despoiled at last,” he said, looking from one black-haired mage to the other. He and Morrigan began to bicker about rotting legacies and undeserving fools and... frankly, Varric didn’t care.

He was more concerned about Bethany, who was beginning to look tired again. The green light on her hand was crackling wildly, like it sometimes did when she was near a rift. Well, Solas did say the thing that gave her the mark was elven somehow, and Abelas called it ‘the mark of magic which is familiar.’ Maybe it was all related. He didn’t want to think about it too much.

Abelas did, at least, explain what the Well of Sorrows actually was. Mythal’s servants would, before dying, dump into its contents whatever wisdom they had collected over their lifetimes so that future generations could share in it. He didn’t elaborate on _how_ they did this, but from the way he spoke, it was the only thing left from the time when they had walked the temple’s halls with the goddess herself. Varric had no idea whether Mythal was ever real, or if Abelas had ever actually met her, or if she was just an idea as remote as the Maker. But she was real to Abelas, and maybe that was all that mattered.

“I’m sorry, Abelas,” Bethany said in her gentle way. “Yours can’t be an easy duty to perform.”

“You have no idea.” He seemed faintly grateful, like it was some kind of relief to actually say this to someone who might understand even just the littlest bit. “Each time we awaken, it slips further from our grasp.”

“There are other places, friend,” Solas offered. “Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

“Elvhen such as you?”

“Yes. Such as I.”

Abelas seemed to consider that, although exactly what he was thinking about it was hard to guess. “You have shown respect to Mythal,” he told Bethany, “and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’Abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

She hesitated. “That would be quite a gift, but there must be a catch of some kind.”

“No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost. The Vir’Abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend.” He walked away from her a few paces, then turned back. “Brave it if you must, but know you this – you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound?” Morrigan all but sneered. “To a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?”

“Bound, as we are bound. The choice is yours.”

They talked a bit longer; Varric tuned them out for the most part, although he heard something about Mythal being murdered. He instead wandered to the edge of the pool and knelt down to look at its contents. It looked like water; nothing more. There was something mesmerizing about it, though, the way it reflected the frames of eluvians (all but one of them broken) which stood along the edge. By the time he looked up again, Abelas was gone.

Bethany and Morrigan started to discuss, heatedly, what should be done with the Well. Varric resumed his place beside Dorian, watching as Solas involved himself in the conversation. “Chuckles really doesn’t like Blackbird, does he?”

“What was your first clue?” Dorian retorted. “When he first nicknamed her ‘the witch’ or when he accused her of using our beloved Inquisitor as a means to her own ends?”

“Take your pick, I’m feeling generous.”

“Are you sure you want this, Morrigan?” Bethany was asking. “We have no idea what will happen to whomever drinks.”

“No, we do not. And yet it must be done. I am willing.”

Sunshine sighed, and looked at the group. “Does anyone want to offer some input? I’m afraid this is a bit beyond me.”

Seeing her topaz gaze land on him first, Varric shrugged his shoulders. “You’re asking me? Sunshine, this is a lot of... weird. I barely understand how any of this works.”

“I know.” She sighed again. “Anyone else?”

“She is right about only one thing,” said Solas. “We _should_ take the power which lies in that Well.”

But it was Cole who seemed to have an idea of what exactly was coming. “So many voices,” he said. “They would be in your head, talking over you. You don’t want them.”

Bethany looked at him thoughtfully. Her nod was slow and deliberate, and she turned to Morrigan. “All right. If you’re sure... go ahead and drink.”

It wasn’t until he heard her say the words that Varric realized he’d been holding his breath. He released it, relieved. None of this magic shit ever made sense to him, and while Bethany was absolutely one of the best mages he’d ever known, he didn’t necessarily trust an ancient elven pool of knowledge not to do some kind of irreparable damage. Enough had already happened to her from which she might never recover. He moved to stand beside her, and they watched Morrigan cautiously descend the steps into the Well. She moved around gingerly a bit, like a child getting used to the cold water in a lake before swimming, and little blue lights came up out of the depths and swirled around her like fireflies. She gave them a strangely beatific smile before dropping into a crouch, letting the whatever-it-was in the Well cover her head.

Then everything shook just faintly, and the contents of the Well suddenly exploded, bursting out everywhere. Varric caught Bethany’s arm to steady her, tried to shield her so the liquid wouldn’t splash her, but it seemed to evaporate in thin air before any of them could get even a little damp.

_All this shit is weird. Maybe that should be the book title._


	25. Madam, You Wound Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return to Skyhold. Bethany greets some visitors and Varric gets some unexpected mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't how I originally intended to revisit the Bianca situation, but when I had the idea, I knew I had to run with it.
> 
> Since this chapter contains a long-awaited Isabela cameo, I wanted to give a shout-out to my favorite Isabela cosplayer, the lovely Nikki! Find her on Instagram at SirensCallForCosplay and see why I'm dying to get pictures of her as Isabela with me as Bethany. (No, I don't cosplay Bethany... yet. Someday.)

Morrigan lay in the middle of what used to be the Well of Sorrows, looking for all the world like she might be dead. For the sake of her kid back at Skyhold, Varric fervently hoped she wasn’t.

Bethany slipped free of his grasp and rushed down to try to wake her. “Speak to me, Morrigan! Are you all right?”

Blackbird woke, very abruptly, and started muttering in what sounded like the elven language. Carefully she got to her feet, feeling her face and arms and looking around in complete confusion. “I... I am intact,” she said finally.

“That’s a start,” Varric muttered. Her words weren’t troubling him, though; what was troubling him was the creepy tendrils of dark smoke which were rising around her as she spoke. Flashes of blue light lit the smoke, like tiny bolts of lightning in a miniature storm. Something was wrong, and that something was Corypheus.

He emerged from the temple through the same door they had themselves used maybe an hour earlier, and let out a roar of frustration when he saw them and realized what must have happened. Then – Varric couldn’t make this up if he tried – he lifted up into midair and started flying toward them. _Andraste’s ass, where’d he learn **that** trick?_

“The eluvian!” Morrigan shouted, and a flash of blue light behind them indicated that it had opened.

“Quickly, everyone, through the mirror!” Bethany sounded panicked, and it was hard to blame her.

* * *

Several minutes later, the Inquisitor and her closest allies spilled out of Morrigan’s own eluvian, safe within the walls of Skyhold once again. Bethany took a swift head count, making sure that all of them had safely arrived; Morrigan had led them through a strange otherworldly region she called the Crossroads. Varric didn’t really know what to make of it except that it gave him a very uncomfortable feeling. Morrigan seemed to regard it as a sort of in-between place, but to him it felt more like they were no place at all, and that was at least a little unsettling.

Seeing the Inquisitor was satisfied by the number of companions, Morrigan made a gesture at the eluvian, and the shimmering blue-purple surface dulled to a muted reflection once more. “It is done,” she said, and there was a serenity in her voice that reminded him of Cole in a way. Varric wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

“Is everybody all right?” he wanted to know, looking around at the others. What he discerned from their expressions more than anything could only be described as varying levels of unease and confusion. Varric could relate, since he himself was feeling a powerful sense of _Andraste’s ass, what just happened, was that even real_ , and he guessed that most of them felt the same way. Solas looked calm enough, but that wasn’t anything new. Everyone else... well, more than anything he supposed they all needed a nap.

“It looks that way,” Dorian remarked. “What time of day do you imagine it is?”

“Late, I imagine,” drawled Vivienne. “Though it’s difficult to say.” She seemed more annoyed than anything, presumably about Morrigan’s recent activities.

“I’m going up to the rookery,” said Bethany. “The others won’t know what happened to us. Some of our soldiers took Samson, but they would have cleared out before Corypheus appeared... I hope,” she added grimly. “The sooner the war council comes back, the sooner we can figure out what to do next. Meanwhile, please, go to your quarters and rest – you’ve earned it. Thank you all.” She smiled, gesturing for the others to precede her from the little room; then, in a lower voice for Varric’s ears only, she murmured, “Come with me?”

“Sure, Sunshine, if you want.” Why she would need him to accompany her to the rookery, he didn’t know, but if it made her feel better then he wasn’t about to deny her.

He trailed in her wake as she crossed the courtyard to enter the main hall, then climbed the spiraling staircase into Leliana’s domain. The place felt strange without its usual hooded occupant; the candles on the altar were extinguished in her absence, and there was a slight coating of dust and black feathers on several surfaces. Somebody on the housekeeping staff was probably doomed to get an earful when either spymaster or ambassador returned.

Bethany’s movements were a little stiff as she seated herself at the long table where Leliana usually worked. “You okay?” Varric asked, watching her select a quill from the small array in the writing box.

“Achy and tired. Nothing worse than that,” she promised. “Maker, what a day this has been.”

“Can’t argue, Your Inquisitorialness. Once you get that letter airborne, I think you should go get some sleep.”

She nodded vaguely, scratching letters onto a sheet of parchment. “How long do you think it will take them to get back here?”

He thought a little. “If I had to guess, your intrepid advisors will head in this direction as soon as they have some idea of just what happened to the rest of us. The soldiers and scouts will probably move more slowly, but judging by how long it took us to get to the base camp, I’d say we could probably expect the triple threat to be here by the end of the week.”

“The triple threat?” Bethany repeated, amused.

“Eh, I’m a little worn out myself. I’m sure I could come up with a better name for them if I had a nap.”

“Well, you tried.” She finished the message and blew on the ink to make it dry, then rolled up the parchment. “Let me see, I need one of these babies who won’t peck me too much. This one seems docile enough.” Warily, she opened a cage and offered her hand to its occupant, who studied her fingers with a beady black eye before consenting to hop off of its perch. Varric watched her attach the message and carry the raven to a door near Leliana’s altar, which opened onto the castle battlements. The sun was still shining out there, but at an angle which indicated it was on its way down.

“Looks like you got that out just in time,” he remarked. “It’s not dark yet, he can cover at least some ground. They should have your note by midday tomorrow, the way these things travel.”

Bethany nodded, closing the door. “I’m sure they’ll return as quickly as they can... but I’m not sure what we can accomplish in the meantime.”

“We’ll play it by ear. Before you do anything else, though, I want you to get some sleep. Unless you’re hungry, that is, in which case I want you to eat and _then_ get some sleep.”

She chuckled. “You’re such a nag.”

“Madam! You wound me. I am merely doing my part to ensure the continued well-being of the savior of Thedas.” Even he had to admit that was a little overblown, and he couldn’t blame her for the eyebrow she raised at him. “Too much?”

“Just a bit. Come on, then – if I have to eat and sleep, so do you.”

* * *

By the time a return bird brought word from the advisors that they were en route to Skyhold, Bethany had eaten, slept, reviewed a small pile documents which had been left on her desk, and greeted some visitors to the fortress. Varric might not have known about the visitors, except that he happened to be nearby when she saw them, and found the whole thing interesting enough to watch.

Vivienne sauntered into the main hall of Skyhold with two people. One was a man, probably somewhere around his own age, who was clearly an Orlesian noble. The clothes and the mask gave it away. The other was a woman closer to the Iron Lady’s age, as far as he could tell, in an outfit very similar to those worn by Empress Celene’s handmaidens. Varric didn’t start paying attention until he heard the woman comment on her surroundings. “I expected ruins,” she admitted, and he glanced up from his writing to see who was speaking.

“They were,” Vivienne replied grandly. “As you can see, the Inquisition has not been idle.”

The man spoke next, and Varric had to strain to hear his words, because he had a mellow, soft sort of voice. “Would it be possible to meet the Herald before we return to Ghislain?”

“My dear Laurent,” said Vivienne, and there was real warmth in the words, “for you, anything.” She guided them further into the hall, pointing out the statues lining the walls and the elegant throne on the dais.

While this was happening, Bethany walked into the scene, and – as she so often did – turned in his direction. “Varric, I have a letter from Merrill,” she said. “Isabela’s coming to Skyhold!”

“Is that right? Well, it’ll be good to see her,” he replied, smiling at the excitement in her eyes. “Meanwhile, looks like Vivienne’s got some visitors who want to meet you. Here they come.” Sure enough, the three were walking back toward the door, and Vivienne waved to Bethany as they approached. She stepped away from Varric’s table to intercept them, but not so far that he couldn’t eavesdrop on the meeting.

“Allow me to present Inquisitor Bethany Hawke,” said Vivienne.

The man gave her a genteel bow. “Your Worship, you do us great honor,” he said.

“Inquisitor,” Vivienne continued, “this is my dear Bastien’s sister, Grand Cleric Marcelline, and his son, Duke Laurent of the Council of Heralds.” Oh, that explained why the Iron Lady was playing tour guide; it made sense now.

“Madam de Fer has told us what great trials you faced, trying to save my poor brother’s life,” said the Grand Cleric.

“The Maker called my father to His side,” added the Duke, gravely. His grief, as far as Varric could see, was sincere, and that spoke well of him. “It was valiant of you to champion him in his final hours.”

“I’m only sorry that my efforts weren’t more successful,” Bethany replied. “My condolences to you both. From everything I know of Duke Bastien, his loss is a great one.”

“You are too kind,” said the Grand Cleric. “The Circle of Magi told Bastien many years ago that his illness was incurable. It was simply his time.”

“Would you mind waiting for me in the chapel, my dears?” Vivienne asked. “The Inquisitor and I have business to discuss.”

The Duke bowed again. “It has been our very great pleasure, Herald.”

“Likewise, my lord. You’re always welcome in Skyhold.”

The Orlesians headed out into the courtyard, and Vivienne gave Bethany a smile of tremendous regard. Whatever she had wanted Sunshine to do, she’d evidently done it. “This has been quite the triumph, hasn’t it? They just adore you.”

“Do they?” Bethany seemed faintly puzzled. “They were very pleasant, I was happy to welcome them.”

“Ordinarily, I would have warned you that Marcelline has the temper of a hungry vulture.” Varric stifled his laugh so Vivienne would continue to not pay attention to him. “But she’s quite taken with you. Laurent is a dear,” she continued fondly. “Almost as pious as his aunt, and new to a seat of great power in the empire. And Marcelline is one of the strongest voices among the grand clerics. Now they will both come to _us_ for advice.”

“Well. That’s... slightly intimidating, actually,” Bethany admitted. “If they do, it’s a great compliment, I’m sure.”

“The Inquisition is truly a power now, and there’s no telling how far its influence will reach. But enough of this talk,” Vivienne added. “Here, I have something for you.” She took Bethany’s hand and placed something small in the palm, folding her fingers around it rather tenderly. “I commissioned this ring from the Formari – the greatest enchanters in all of Thedas – for you.”

“It’s lovely!” Bethany examined the ring with great interest before slipping it onto an unadorned finger. “You’re too generous, Madam Vivienne, thank you.”

“Not at all, my dear. Once, it was customary for Circle mages to craft enchantments for their staunchest friends and allies – and you have been both.” She smiled. “I must go see to my guests now, but another time, darling.”

The First Enchanter sailed away, leaving a nonplussed Bethany in her wake, and the younger mage returned to Varric. “Well, she has excellent taste in jewelry, not that I’m surprised.”

“What does the ring actually do? Can you tell?”

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure it does anything,” she admitted. “I’ve read about these sorts of enchanted gifts – like she said, it used to be more common among Circle mages. They didn’t usually have very strong enchantments on them, it was more the thought that mattered. It might give a slight boost to health. Or, knowing Vivienne, maybe it’s a slight boost to charisma.”

“You have enough of that on your own,” Varric admonished her.

She laughed, and to his surprise, her cheeks went a little pink. “I don’t know about that, but you’re sweet to say it. Well, I’ll wear it for a little while to please Vivienne, and then I’ll put it in the box with Grandmother Amell’s wedding ring. I don’t like wearing rings on my left hand, I always worry that it will interfere with the Anchor, and I only have so many fingers on my right hand.”

“That... that thing doesn’t hurt you, does it?” he asked warily.

“I wouldn’t say it hurts, exactly,” she replied. “Most of the time I just don’t notice it, I’m used to it now. Closing rifts always feels strange, though. Sort of a cross between a dull ache and a tingling like the hand is going to sleep. But it hasn’t really hurt since the Breach was closed.”

“That’s something, I guess.” It was something he needed to keep an eye on, more specifically.

* * *

Varric knew that not all of Leliana’s scouts could have gone to the Arbor Wilds. Some were at Caer Bronach with Charter, of course, and still others passed back and forth between Inquisition outposts with a regularity that made clockwork look unreliable. Still, he wasn’t prepared for Horizon to approach him one afternoon with yet another letter.

He was seated at his table, working on story notes; the Orlesian thriller was taking shape in his head, partly encouraged by Vivienne herself. (She was very insistent that he research the fashion trends thoroughly. Not his idea of a good time, but a writer must do what a writer must do.) Sensing, rather than seeing, that someone was approaching his space, he raised his head slowly and caught sight of the familiar figure. “Oh, hey, kiddo,” he greeted her. “I thought I felt somebody sneaking up on me. Glad it’s just you.”

“Sorry, Lord Varric, I didn’t want to interrupt.” She smiled at the greeting. “I’ve a letter for you. Not sure who sent it – it came to Skyhold by private courier, not one of ours, and there doesn’t seem to be any sort of return address.”

“Hm. Well, I’ll risk reading it, I guess. Thanks.” He accepted the missive and opened it carefully, but the handwriting on the salutation told him everything he needed to know about who had sent it. “Hey, before you go, do you happen to know where the Inquisitor is just now?”

“I believe she’s in the courtyard at present, playing chess with Lord Dorian. Do you need me to give her a message?”

“Not urgently. Just ask her to come find me when she has a free minute, no hurry.”

Once Horizon had disappeared, and he was more or less alone again among the milling courtiers, Varric unfolded the letter properly to read the contents. His chest ached already.

 

> _Dear Varric,_
> 
> _I haven’t heard from you since Valammar, although I’ve been keeping up on the news that comes my way about the Inquisition. I know the Hawke brothers were lost in some skirmish involving Grey Wardens – nobody seems to have a firm grasp on the specifics, but that’s the one fact every story about the event has in common. I’m sorry. I know how important they were to you._
> 
> _I’m guessing that’s at least part of the reason you haven’t written. That’s fair. But I’m also guessing that the enclosed is part of the reason – I don’t usually read this garbage, but a couple of Guild members were having a good laugh about it and I had to see it for myself. Knowing you, you haven’t seen it either, so I figured I’d send you a copy. I don’t know if it’s true, but I do know that it’s not really my place to judge, all things considered._
> 
> _What we had was good. Weird, but good. But I think we both know it’s behind us, and your silence makes that loud and clear. I can respect it. I’d like to think you can be happy, wherever life takes you next._
> 
> _Take care of the other Bianca and she’ll take care of you. That’s probably true of the Inquisitor too. Just think of me, now and then._
> 
> _Bianca_

Well, he had to admit that the letter’s contents hurt a lot less than he expected. But what had she sent that she thought explained why he hadn’t written? He looked around and realized that a second page had fallen onto the table while he wasn’t paying attention, maybe when he was talking to Horizon or something. Curious, he picked it up and studied it.

It was – of all things – a page from the most recent issue of the _Randy Dowager Quarterly_. Varric snorted, wondering why she would send him this; what could possibly have gotten her attention in _that_ rag? He scanned the sheet, puzzled.

It was an article about Empress Celene’s ball. The actual politics of the event barely rated a mention; the writer, unsurprisingly, focused more on what people were wearing and who was seen doing what with whom. It was the middle portion of the article that concerned him and his friends.

 _The Inquisition members,_ it said, _cut smart figures in their dashing uniforms of crimson lustrous cotton, accented with King’s Willow Weave and blue silk. Of particular note was Ser Cullen Rutherford, the golden-haired commander of the organization’s military, who was the object of much admiration. The Dowager could hardly even approach to introduce herself, as he spent most of the evening surrounded by those petitioning for his attention. Alas, all their hopes were dashed when he departed the festivities at a scandalously early hour, and was not seen again. Reportedly, the man is in fact unavailable, though this did not discourage his devotees in the slightest._

_However, the Dowager was astonished to have him quickly supplanted in her own notice by popular author Varric Tethras, whom the Dowager has noted in the past is something of a perennial bachelor. To the delectation of all eyes, the somewhat reclusive novelist took to the dance floor exactly one time. His partner was none other than Her Worship, Inquisitor Bethany Hawke, whose formal uniform had been replaced by a daring gown of midnight blue plush fustian velvet, embellished with cream-colored silk brocade. The Lady has since learned that the gown was a gift from Empress Celene herself. The pair quickly claimed the floor as their own, with other dancers moving off to the sides to admire their well-matched steps. If there were any further attempts to persuade either the author or the Inquisitor to dance with other partners afterward, they met with no success, and rumor has it that the pair spent the remainder of the evening in each other’s company. Many scarves were fluttered, and many whispers were hidden behind fans._

More than anything, Varric decided, he was surprised that nobody had told him about this sooner. Bianca had only enclosed the relevant page of the “missive of suspect virtue;” without being able to see the publication date, he couldn’t confirm how long it had been in print. He would have expected Mae, Dorian, or possibly even Josephine to bring it to his attention before Bianca.

The fact that he had made the pages of the _Quarterly_ was unexpected. This didn’t normally happen unless they were either reviewing one of his books or comparing someone else’s book to his, and even that was usually just a very brief name drop. That they’d talked about him dancing with Bethany was a little strange, he decided. On the other hand, he _was_ somewhat famously unattached (for reasons only a very few people understood). So maybe it could be considered noteworthy that he was spotted on a ballroom floor, accompanying the most eligible maiden in Thedas to boot. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, and he had to allow that it was like something he’d probably put into one of his books.

In fact, it was giving him a great idea for a subplot in the Orlesian thriller.

* * *

He was still making notes when Bethany came in search of him maybe half an hour later. “Varric, is something wrong? Horizon said it wasn’t urgent, but you don’t usually send someone else to get me unless it is.”

“Huh?” He glanced up. “Oh, Sunshine. I completely forgot about that. Sorry.”

“You got distracted by a story again?” She chuckled and shook her head. “I’m not surprised. But did you need something?”

“Oh.” He felt, and probably looked, sheepish. “It’s, uh, Bianca. I got... well, basically it’s a goodbye letter.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. Are you... okay?” Varric couldn’t quite interpret the expression in Bethany’s eyes, though her face and tone were very carefully neutral.

“I think so. Yes. It’s been a long time coming... and it was, you know, pretty friendly on the whole. But I thought you might want to see what she sent with the letter.” He handed her the article about the ball. “Looks like half of Thedas knows about you in an Orlesian gown, now.”

Puzzled, she took the sheet and peered at the words, a slow smile dawning on her lips. “Well, that’s... something I never thought I’d see, I’ll admit. This is great, would you mind if I keep it?”

“Yours if you want it, Sunshine.”

“Thanks. I –”

Whatever she was about to say was suddenly interrupted by the barking of a dog. Bethany turned, staring at the keep’s entrance in confusion, and a moment later an enormous mabari warhound came barreling up the stairs and into the hall.

“ _Dane!_ ”

With a cry of infectious joy, Sunshine dropped to her knees and held out her arms. The dog rushed her, slobbering happily at her cheek, and she laughed.

Varric chuckled, moving around the table to offer his own greetings to Hawke’s loyal dog. “How’ve you been, pal? Play any good card games lately?” He glanced at the door, and grinned. “Rivaini, I see the hat’s even as big as you claimed. Welcome to Skyhold.”

“Hello, my paragon of manliness. And hello, Sweetness,” said the pirate, striding across the threshold.

“Merrill told us you were coming,” said Bethany, rising to embrace their friend, “but I didn’t expect you so soon. It’s good to see you.”

“Look at you. Our innocent little apostate, all grown up and saving the world.” Isabela shook her head, smiling. “Varric, are you taking good care of her or do I have to hurt you?”

“Now what kind of question is that?”

“He does his best,” Bethany said confidently. “I don’t make it easy, but he tries.”

“I suppose that’s all we can ask. Look at this place,” Isabela added, glancing around the hall. “I have to have the grand tour. Ending in the wine cellar.”

“Is this purely a social call, Rivaini, or are you up to something?” Varric asked.

“A little of both. I wanted to see the two of you, of course, and maybe this adorable ambassador of whom I’ve heard so much.” She winked. “And I also thought that Dane ought to be with you. He’s been good company for me, but he’s part of the Hawke family and I thought maybe it was time he came home.”

Bethany’s bright expression dimmed at that. But she rebounded quickly. “You’re _also_ part of the Hawke family, don’t forget.”

“That’s our Sweetness.” Isabela’s tone was fond. “I haven’t forgotten, don’t worry. Still, you’re much more Fereldan than I’ll ever be, and doesn’t every Fereldan need their mabari?”

“Well, you have a point there.” The Inquisitor smiled. “Very well, then, one tour of Skyhold coming up. Varric, will you join us?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Sunshine. Let me put away my mess here and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”


	26. Well, That's Creepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany meets Morrigan's mother (again) and accompanies Leliana to Valence. Also, Cullen is a mabari hog.

Isabela stayed at Skyhold for just a week, which was long enough for the advisors to return. She flirted enough with Josephine to make her beautifully flustered, flirted enough with Cullen to make him deeply embarrassed, and – to Varric’s surprise – accepted a commission from Leliana to undertake some scouting missions on behalf of the Inquisition. He definitely hadn’t seen  _that_  coming.

“You all right there, Curly?” Varric asked, nudging him. He’d never seen the commander turn a color quite like the one he was currently wearing. They were standing on the steps, watching as Bethany said goodbye to the departing pirate. “She didn’t rattle you that badly, did she? That’s just Rivaini’s charm.”

“Compared to the misadventures I had back in Halamshiral Palace, it wasn’t bad,” Cullen assured him. He managed to sound sort of amused. “Unlike the Empress’s courtiers, your friend Isabela knows how to take  _no_  for an answer.”

“You remember her from Kirkwall, right?”

“Of course, though I mostly knew of her by reputation.” Cullen paused. “Can I ask you something about that?”

“You can ask, I can’t promise I can answer.”

“There was a rumor that she was actually... uh...” The words were clearly not allowing themselves to be voiced.

Varric chortled. “Let me just stop you right there. Whatever you’re about to ask me, the answer is probably yes, she did.” He glanced at Cullen’s face and saw an expression which suggested he was processing this concept. “You and your girlfriend have plans later?”

“I don’t – er – why?”

“Just wondered if I should count you in, if we put another game of Wicked Grace together.”

Cullen chuckled. “No offense, Varric, but... definitely count me  _out_. For multiple reasons.”

“No offense taken. You enjoy.”

* * *

“Morrigan says she can match Corypheus’s dragon,” Bethany reported the following day.

She and Varric had resumed their daily  _tête-à-têtes_  in her suite, and the tea tray held a number of pastries he was more than willing to sample. “How?” he asked, helping himself to one.

“I’m not completely sure,” she admitted. “She says the voices from the Well speak to her and tell her what to do.”

“Well, that’s... creepy. Have I mentioned that I’m really glad you didn’t drink from that thing?”

“You don’t know the half of it. Don’t ask how I spent my morning.” She chuckled.

“You can’t say that and expect me not to ask,” he protested, slipping a bit of pastry crust to Dane under the desk.

“I know. I’m just not sure how to tell you,” she said. “Kieran – her son – he activated the eluvian and went into the Fade. Morrigan and I had to follow to get him back, and while we were there, we met Morrigan’s mother.”

“Blackbird’s mother? What’s  _she_  like?”

“Well, actually, we’ve met her before... do you remember the day we met Merrill?” Bethany’s smile was wry. “We had to take that amulet up to the altar on Sundermount?”

“Oh, yeah, I remember. Flemeth turned out to have been hiding inside it and –” Varric broke off, his eyes widening. “Andraste’s ass!  _Flemeth_  is  _Morrigan’s mother_?”

“You put it together faster than I did.” She laughed a bit. “I even remember, now, that one of her remarks to Garrett was that she hid part of herself inside the amulet as protection against something that  _Morrigan_  might do. She mentioned her daughter by name! But I forgot all about it. It never seemed important.”

“Everything that happens to you is weird!”

“Tell me about it. She remembered me, too. ‘Oh, little Hawke,’ she said, ‘you have come so far since that day you flew away from Lothering.’ You know she helped us get to Gwaren.”

“I remember.” He nodded. “Cassandra called bullshit when I first told her about it, but then I reminded her that Flemeth helped the Warden too and she backed down. But what was she doing in the Fade, of all places?”

“Well, as it turns out, Flemeth isn’t just Flemeth. I’ll spare you the details, because they’re incredibly confusing at best, but Flemeth is basically the host body of the elven goddess Mythal. You know, the one whose temple we just visited?”

“...the one whose Well of Sorrows Morrigan drank?”

“Exactly.”

“Wow. No wonder you looked so tired when I came up here!”

“Yes, you have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this cup of tea.” She drained the cup in question. “Short version of the story, we brought Kieran back, after his grandmother took the soul of an Old God that was hiding in his body.”

Varric paused. “The what now?”

“Kieran was... fathered, apparently, shortly before the battle against the Archdemon at the end of the Fifth Blight. The Old God Urthemiel left the body of the Archdemon when it was slain and entered the unborn baby. Now Flem – Myth – um. Flemythal? Flemythal has it.”

“Flemythal. I like that. Also, can I just say that you’re getting pretty good at telling stories?” He winked. “I know you learned from the best, but really, you reveal the details at just the right moment. I’m so proud.”

Sunshine laughed. “Thank you. Like you say, I learned from the best. Well, Dane,” she added, looking under her desk at the mabari, “can you keep an eye on our dwarf for a couple of days?” Returning her attention to Varric, she added, “I have to make a quick trip to Orlais with Leliana. Divine Justinia left something for her at the chantry in Valence, and she asked me to accompany her, for moral support if nothing else.”

“You think this has something to do with her possibly being the next Divine?”

“It might. As it stands, it’s almost certain to be either her or Cassandra,” Bethany added. “Like I told you, all of the other logical candidates died at the Conclave, and they won’t give  _me_  the job because I have enough on my plate.”

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone from giving you something to do.”

* * *

Cullen, to Varric’s infinite amusement, did his level best to monopolize Dane in Bethany’s absence. That the man was Fereldan to the core, he knew, but he’d sort of forgotten just how much of a cultural thing it was for them all to love dogs more than breathing.

A short note arrived from Bethany for Varric, three days after she left Skyhold. They had finished their business in Valence, and were back on the Fereldan side of the Waking Sea; they had traveled as far as Caer Bronach and were staying the night there to rest their horses. He took the letter and went to Curly’s office. “I have word from the boss,” he reported, “that she and Leliana will be back by tomorrow sundown. That’s how long you’ve got to continue hogging her dog.”

Cullen chuckled. “Duly noted. I trust all went well?”

“Still not sure exactly why they went to Valence in the first place, but she says everything is fine, so that’s the most I can tell you.”

He was in the library when the Valence delegation returned. For some reason, the Skyhold library had nearly fifty copies of  _Hard in Hightown_ , all of which were missing, and Varric wanted to know how the search was progressing. The elven librarian Leliana had hired dressed like a displaced mage – which, to be fair, he quite possibly was; the exact style of robe he favored bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the one Orsino used to wear. “Never fear, Messere Tethras, we’ll find those wayward tomes! I have people combing the entire castle. We’ve recovered fifteen thus far.”

“And... why do we have so many copies in the first place? I mean, I’m not complaining, obviously. Just surprised.”

“Messere, you  _are_  the most famous and only author who is actually a member of the Inquisition itself. It’s to be expected that we need to have a large supply of your work on hand! You have admirers in every corner of Skyhold!” The librarian started to say something else, but interrupted himself. “In fact, here comes one now. Good afternoon, Your Worship! Sister Nightingale!”

“Oh, hey, welcome back, you two,” said Varric, turning. “How was Valence?”

“Quite scenic, actually,” Bethany replied, nodding to the librarian. “Have we missed much here?”

“About the only thing you’ve really missed is Curly trying to steal your dog,” Varric noted. “He’s out in the practice yard right now, alternating between barking orders at the soldiers and rubbing Dane’s belly.”

The two women laughed. Seeing that they were continuing their trek up to the rookery, Varric decided to follow and listen to their conversation. “I’ve been contemplating who might be Divine,” Leliana was saying as they climbed the stairs. “Is it so ridiculous for the Grand Clerics to support me? Why shouldn’t they?”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all,” Bethany replied. “Though I’ll lose a magnificent spymaster, in that case. What would you do, if you took the Sunburst Throne?”

“Change things. Change  _everything_ ,” came the emphatic response. “No more Circles – the mages will be free, and the Chantry will accept them as the Maker’s children.” Her face suddenly came alight with an idea. “In fact, it will accept everyone! Elves, dwarves, even Qunari! Why exclude them? The Chantry as it is now allows our differences to tear us apart, instead of teaching us how we are the same.”

“Might be a little idealistic,” said Varric thoughtfully, “but I think I like the way you think, Nightingale. After a thousand years, the Chantry could probably do with some shaking up.”

Leliana smiled, shaking her head at him, and Bethany giggled. “I agree. I don’t know how easy it would be to do what you’re describing, or to persuade others to go along with it. But I like your ideas. I think you’d make a wonderful Divine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Your support may be what convinces the Grand Clerics. The Chantry was a beacon of hope to me, once,” she added. “You remember the one in Lothering. We never turned away anyone who needed us.”

“I do remember that,” Bethany noted. “It was one of the reasons I liked being there so much – that and your stories.”

Leliana chuckled softly. She looked down at her hands, which were clutching some antique-looking box, and sighed. “Josephine is positively beside herself about what happened in Valence,” she noted wryly. “‘Niceness before knives, Leliana! Haven’t I always told you?’ I will never hear the end of it.”

“Meaning... what?” asked Varric. He was fighting a smile at Leliana’s impression of Josephine’s Antivan accent.

“Leliana decided not to kill someone who was there to cause trouble for us,” Bethany explained simply. He wasn’t sure if she would give him details later or not, but maybe he didn’t need them. “But how did Josephine hear about it so quickly?”

“I sent a message while we were at Caer Bronach, giving her the particulars. She was the only one besides yourself who knew why I was making the trip,” Nightingale explained.

“And now that you’ve had some time to, well, to process everything, how are you feeling about it all?”

“Good! Wonderful. Valence was something of a rebirth for me.” She straightened, and gazed thoughtfully at Bethany’s face. “If you hadn’t been with me, I would have killed Natalie. I would have told you that I didn’t have a choice, but there is  _always_  a choice.” She looked at the box again. “I am more than this. I am more than what Justinia made me.”

“Yes, you are,” Sunshine agreed warmly. “You’ve seen things, survived things, that she couldn’t have ever imagined. She wanted you to lay down your burdens and be everything you could be. And I think you can do that as Divine.”

“I hope you’re right.” Leliana watched Baron von Plucky (whose cage had a little nameplate to identify him) preen himself. “When I was younger, I felt the Maker’s presence and His love even when they told me He had left us. This is the Chantry I know.” She turned to look at Bethany and Varric again. “The Chantry I wish the world could see.”

“It’s a damned big undertaking,” said Varric, but he smiled. “Somehow, though, I think if anybody can pull it off, it’s you.”

“The Chantry should be a force for good!” Her words were more emphatic now, and her listeners exchanged glances. “It dictated where it should have inspired, and spoke of judgment instead of acceptance. It should encourage the good in everyone, not rebuke us for our sins!” She seemed oddly peaceful, even hopeful. “No one should be turned away from our doors – no one is without worth. Whoever you are... whatever your mistakes... you are loved. Unconditionally.” Her expression turned sweet with devotion. “ _In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame._ ”

* * *

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t see that coming,” said Varric.

He and Bethany were walking on the ramparts, having left Leliana in devotions at her altar, and watching the sun set behind the mountains. “Hearing the Nightingale talk like that,” he continued, “it was something else. I’m not used to rousing speeches from the spymaster.”

“I know. She’s so  _fervent_ ,” Bethany replied. “Valence really must have been even as much of a rebirth as she implied.”

“And you’re throwing your weight behind her for Inquisitor? I’m kind of relieved, to be honest. The idea of Cassandra taking the job was a little terrifying.”

“I don’t think Cassandra really wants the job, in truth,” came the wise reply. “I mean, I think she would do it, and I think she would do it well, but she wouldn’t be happy. Besides, she would more or less have to set aside her romance to be Divine, and I’d hate to see her give up something so important to her.”

“There’s that.”

“Leliana is the right choice, I think. I like her ideas, and her enthusiasm. And she has enough of a reputation – Left Hand of the Divine, companion of the Hero of Ferelden, all of that – to really give her the means to make her vision a reality.”

Varric considered that. “Would you have taken the job, if they offered it to you?”

“You know, I asked myself the same question,” she said lightly. “And as interesting as it might be to have a mage Divine, I don’t think it’s the right path for me. Val Royeaux will be nice to visit, but I want to go home to Kirkwall when all is said and done.”

“I guess we’ll have to talk about that soon,” he said. “We’ll be facing down Corypheus before much longer, and then the Inquisition will probably have some more work to do. But going home does sound awfully good, Sunshine.”

“We’ll go together,” she promised. “I might have to come back here for a spell, but we’ll go home together and see everyone and maybe check for any lingering rifts on that side of the sea.”

“The team will be breaking up,” he mused. “Blackwall has to go to the Wardens, and Dorian’s talking about heading back to Tevinter to try to make it better. Stuff like that. We’ll have to have at least one more hand of Wicked Grace before we all get scattered to the winds, and then maybe I’ll get started on a book about us.”

“Really?” She laughed. “You’re going to write about the Inquisition after all?”

“Yeah, it seems like it might be a better idea than I originally thought.” He spread his hands as though marking out the title. “I’m thinking of calling it  _All This Shit is Weird: The Inquisitor Hawke Story_. Maybe frame it as a sort of sequel to  _The Tale of the Champion_.”

“A sequel to my brother’s story.” Bethany sighed. “That does seem right. I miss them so much... maybe that will help us feel like they’re still with us.”

“They are, Sunshine. In their own way, they are.”


	27. Reduced to Dwarf Jokes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's go time for the final showdown!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the main game, but don't worry, there's still a lot more of this story to come. They haven't been to the Hissing Wastes yet, after all, and there's that little matter of the Jaws of Hakkon. Also, Varric still has to get a clue. ;) Thanks for sticking with the dwarf and me all this time!

Varric didn’t know how much longer they had until the final confrontation with Corypheus. As far as he knew, the Inquisition was still trying to find him, and who knew how long that would take since they never did manage to figure out where he was basing himself. But just a day after Bethany and Leliana returned from Valence, as he was adding another log to the great hall’s fire, several people came rushing inside in a state of fear he’d not seen in months.

“The sky!” someone was shouting. “The Breach! It’s open again!”

Desperately hoping this was some kind of joke, Varric pushed his way to the door and stared up. Sure enough, the sealed Breach was open once more, the sickly green color banishing the placid blue of the normal sky.

“Not _again_ ,” he groaned. Turning, he saw Bethany hurrying out of her meeting with the council, and the Anchor was crackling wildly on her hand. “Sunshine! You okay?”

“I’m all right, Varric, but we have to get the others quickly. He’s in the Valley of the Sacred Ashes.” She looked, for a moment, as fragile and frightened as she had when she watched Orsino turn into a Harvester a few years earlier. “There’s no time to wait. It’s... it’s just us. There’s no one else.”

Varric paused, trying to understand what she meant. It took him a few seconds. “Most of the soldiers are still traveling from the Wilds. Shit. You’re right, Sunshine, it really is just us.”

“This isn’t how... I mean... I thought there’d be more time,” she warbled, swallowing.

“I know. It’s gonna be okay.” He patted her arm. “What do you need me to do?”

“Help me spread the word? Tell our closest people that I’m heading into the valley in two hours. It’ll take us a good day or so to reach the base of the Breach, so we can’t waste time. If any of them don’t want to go... well, don’t force the issue. Just tell them to meet me at the stable in two hours if they’re willing.”

“Sunshine, I don’t doubt for a second that they’ll all go. Look, you go get Sparkler.” He thought Dorian could probably bolster her courage a little. “I’ll get the three in the tavern, and Cassandra. We’ll be ready when you are. Promise.”

He went to Cassandra first, as she was in her usual spot with the training dummy. “Seeker,” he called, “did you notice a change in the weather?”

“I see it, Varric.” She nodded grimly. “The moment has come, has it not?”

“And hopefully this will be over soon. Her Inquisitorialness asks that we meet her at the stables in two hours.”

“Is she all right? The mark?”

He shrugged. “She says she is. I guess we have to trust her on that.”

* * *

By the time he made his way to join everyone at the stable two hours later, Varric had spoken to Bull, Cole, and Sera. He’d also given Josephine a letter to be sent to Aveline in the event he didn’t come back; it basically included a sort of apology, a list of specific requests, and an updated copy of his will.

(His seat in the Merchants’ Guild and most of the family fortune would go to his cousin Vidar, Thorold’s brother, since he’d be the last surviving member of House Tethras. Anything that Varric had to bequeath personally went to Bethany, as his last means of keeping his promise to Hawke that he would take care of her. That was, of course, assuming she survived; if she didn’t, there probably wouldn’t be enough of a world left for inheritance to be an issue.)

Slowly, they all gathered, and it was somewhat amusing to Varric that they all brought the armor with them instead of suiting up individually. Bull covered his face with his creepy skull helmet, which he had aptly named “Dread,” and Blackwall was helping Sera adjust the buckle of her quiver. Cassandra flexed her hands inside their gauntlets, sword gleaming at her waist. Morrigan had no further preparations to make apparently, but merely watched the rest of them in silence. Even Scout Harding was there to accompany them, which sort of warmed him; everyone liked the perky sharpshooter.

Bianca – the one who hadn’t sent him a farewell letter – was oiled and loaded with as many bolts as he could stuff into her magazine. Varric strapped his armor into place, then shrugged on the old leather duster he’d been wearing for longer than he cared to remember. “Everybody ready?” he asked, moving to where he could be helped onto a mount. “Your Sunny Worship?”

Bethany nodded. She put her foot into the stirrup and swung herself up onto the waiting chestnut, carefully flaring her mage armor so that it settled neatly around her in the saddle. “Just know that whatever happens, I’m very grateful to you all for your help,” she said. “We would never have come this far without you.”

“We’re right behind you, boss,” said the Iron Bull. “This is where we all want to be. Now, let’s go kick that bastard’s face in. You’ve earned it.”

* * *

It didn’t take quite as long to reach the Valley of Sacred Ashes as he would have thought. Varric could only imagine that Bethany had expected to encounter more strong winds and blinding snow than what they actually found. Putting any more thought into the whole thing led to some uncomfortable possibilities.

They reached the scene just as Corypheus was setting some demons on a small group of Inquisition soldiers who had probably done something incredibly offensive, like breathing. They rushed into the fray, Cassandra and Bull tearing into the creatures, while Bethany – flanked by Varric and Harding – approached Corypheus without hesitation. He bent at the waist, arms wide, almost the same sort of mocking bow which Grand Duke Gaspard had given Empress Celene at the ball. “I knew you would come, blood of the Hawke. Just as before.”

“We’re a stubborn breed,” she replied. “But I think it’s time we end this, don’t you?”

“And so we shall.” He lifted his hands, creating bolts of creepy red lightning, and large hunks of stone began to break free from the ground and rise.

“That can’t be good,” Varric muttered, watching the fragments of what used to be the Temple of Sacred Ashes start rearranging themselves into some kind of nightmare jigsaw puzzle. As the piece on which they were standing started to lift as well, he saw Bethany give Harding a gentle push so that she tumbled from the edge and was not carried up into space with them.

In fact, Varric realized quickly, most of the group wasn’t with them. He looked around wildly and saw that only he himself, Cassandra, and Solas were there with Bethany, struggling to maintain their balance. _The three from the beginning are the three at the end. Guess there’s something poetic in that._ Corypheus, meanwhile, was staring at them. More accurately, at her.

“You have been most successful in foiling my plans,” he complimented Bethany, begrudgingly. “But let us not forget what you are. A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat.”

“I’ve been called worse things,” she replied dryly. Once again, Varric could hear something of her eldest brother in her tone.

“We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood,” he continued.

“Frankly, I find being a mage to be trouble enough. I wouldn’t want to be a _god_ ,” she returned. He paused at that, looking genuinely startled, like the possibility had never even dawned on him.

Then they heard the snarling. “I hope Blackbird’s ready to pounce,” Varric muttered, trying to shift himself in front of Bethany as the red lyrium dragon appeared. The dragon crawled into the scene, jaws dripping, and took a great leap that was exactly calculated to crush Bethany where she stood. But while it was in mid-hop, a second dragon rushed out of nowhere, tackling the monstrosity and sending it hurtling through the air. “Oh, good.”

“You _dare_ ,” hissed Corypheus. “A dragon. How clever of you! It will avail you nothing. You think to best me with your feeble magics? All you love will be ground under the Imperium’s heel!”

“I see you still haven’t learned how to stop talking,” Bethany called as they chased him through the ruins he had created.

“And I see you still cling to your beardless Stone-worshiper,” he replied. “How touching to see him still at your side after all this time. Run as fast as your little legs can carry you!”

“So, you’re reduced to dwarf jokes now?” Varric replied.

“Feel my wrath, little wretch!”

“I’d forgotten how incredibly dull he can be,” Bethany remarked dryly. She was firing on him with every spell Varric had ever seen her use.

 Corypheus, he realized, was afraid of Bethany. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but the way the magister kept summoning demons to fight on his behalf, tried to keep obstacles between himself and her, and of course tried to keep throwing them off balance with his tedious insults – it all pointed to the truth. He was afraid of the Inquisitor. _And you should be_ , he thought, using Bianca to tear down a swoopy scrub brusher.

“Is this ragged mage another ally? One more _rattus_ emerged from the garden?”

“One more what?” Bethany asked.

“He means me,” Solas told her. More loudly, he called, “You cannot win, Corypheus!”

“A pike shall hold your head before the gates of the Grand Cathedral, Seeker!”

“We shall see about that.” Cassandra somehow sounded perfectly calm, almost indifferent to the taunt. She managed to get close enough to their floating nemesis to slam her sword into his side.

Corypheus almost seemed offended by this more than anything. “You dare touch an avatar of divinity?!” he bellowed, lashing out with his creepy red magic. Cassandra dodged it, but Varric wasn’t as lucky, and it sent him bouncing backwards among the stones. He groaned, trying to move his head, seeing blood drip onto his glove from a cut on his face.

“ _Varric!_ ”

Sunshine was screaming, her attention completely diverted by Varric’s condition. _The Seeker was right_ , he thought dimly. _I can’t... I can’t let him get to her through me._ Righteously pissed (though still with blurry vision), he forced himself into a sitting position and convinced his fingers to clumsily wrestle a healing potion from one of the slots on his belt; as he choked it down, Solas came on the run to help him to stand.

“I’ll be all right. Thanks, Chuckles.”

Corypheus had vanished from the immediate vicinity, so Bethany and Cassandra sprinted over to join them. “Don’t move,” Bethany urged, pulling out another flask. She threw it violently to the ground, shattering the bottle and releasing the healing mist. A wave of golden magic rose up around the four of them, slowly bringing energy and strength back into fatigued limbs and closing every open wound. “All right,” she said with a sigh, after a few minutes of silence. “let’s go get him.”

They charged through the nearby archway and up the stairs. Unfortunately, any ground they had gained was lost to them as the red lyrium dragon suddenly crashed into the scene again, still fighting with Morrigan. It dealt her a nasty blow, sinking its teeth into her neck as they plummeted to crash nearby. She lay still, and the purple menace turned its gaze on its master’s pursuers instead.

It was like fighting no other dragon in Thedas. Instead of flames or ice breath, it spewed what Varric could only imagine was some kind of red lyrium gas. “Hit it with everything you’ve got,” Bethany called. “Morrigan drained it as best she could, we’ve got to finish the job! Remember, killing the dragon is key to winning the battle!”

The fight was something of a blur, if Varric were completely honest. He had vague ideas of Cassandra throwing a jar of bees at the creature, and Bethany casting Force spells, and Solas... doing his Solas thing. Varric couldn’t understand magic at the best of times, and this was certainly not one of those. He just kept running to stay out of the beast’s range, plugging it with bolt after bolt, trusting Bianca to do what she had to do.

He supposed it was Cassandra who dealt the killing blow, slashing into the fiendish neck and tearing through the veins. As the hideous head came to rest on the rocks, a ball of red something-or-other swept out of the dead dragon and flew up toward the summit, where Corypheus had fled. “Now’s our chance,” said Bethany. “Take a moment to get your breath, and then let’s go before he realizes what we’ve done!”

* * *

Exactly what happened next, Varric wasn’t entirely clear.

“Let it end here!” Corypheus bellowed in his overdramatic fashion, as they began making their way up the stairs. “Let the skies boil, let the world be rent asunder!”

“Let’s spend our last moments monologuing,” Varric snarked.

As they crested the climb, however, Bethany glanced up in horror. “The Breach is getting bigger!”

“And then the Fade swallows the world, right?” Varric called back. “Hit him with everything we’ve got! It’s now or never!”

They fought Corypheus, wounded him grievously. Then, abruptly, he turned and rushed up one last flight of stairs, out of sight. Bethany went tearing after him, and Solas took off running after her, but Varric – for his part – couldn’t follow. He was too winded; every muscle in his body felt like it was on fire. “Seeker... Seeker, what is she doing?” he managed to ask.

“I am uncertain, but -” She broke off suddenly as a bolt of emerald green fire blasted up into the sky, straight into the Breach, wrenching it closed once again. “I suppose that answers the question.”

Before either of them could say another word, there was a horrible lurching sensation. The levitating rocks and building remnants were crashing down to the spot from which they’d been lifted, and it was all they could do to try to grab the nearby wall fragment in hopes that it was sturdy enough to keep them from being hurt.

“Ow,” Varric muttered, once they landed and clouds of dust rose up around them.

“Here! They’re over here!” he heard a voice shouting. Might have been Sera, but he wasn’t altogether sure. Whoever it was, the rest of the companions came running to help him and Cassandra stand once again. “Are you all right? Are you injured? Where are the others?”

“My innards are probably pretty mad at me,” Varric replied, pulling out another health potion and knocking it back. “Otherwise, I think we’re okay. What about the rest of you?”

“I have been better,” said Morrigan, dryly. She was clutching her stomach, but she looked as though she would live. “After you killed the dragon and went to fight Corypheus, I took my bird form and flew down here in search of aid.”

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra shouted, watching the stairs. “Are you alive?”

For a few seconds, all was silent. The scene had an arrested feel to it, like they were waiting for the sun to rise - and then, quite abruptly, it did. She looked exhausted, and the staff she gripped in one hand had seen better days, but she was alive and walking under her own power. “It’s over,” she informed them in her gentle voice.

“It seems we are victorious,” murmured Morrigan. She looked mildly dumbfounded, but a slow smile dawned on her features. “What a novel result. And it seems that the Breach is finally closed.” Sure enough, the sky overhead had a weird but harmless gleam where there had once been a gaping maw.

“And the sun is still shining,” Varric added, making his way to the forefront of the group. He thought his face might break if he smiled any harder. “It was pretty dark there for a while, y’know.” Bethany chuckled quietly, giving him a look of understanding.

“What do we do now?” asked the Seeker.

Sunshine paused, and glanced over her shoulder. Something in her posture, and her expression, seemed to indicate that Solas was not coming back – and that she wasn’t surprised by it. Then she turned back to them and smiled.

“Let’s go back to Skyhold.”

* * *

Nobody was too surprised to find a party waiting for them when they returned several hours later. It seemed entirely appropriate, after all, and they hadn’t had a real party in what felt like forever. Varric and the others walked through the main gate, sort of waving (with varying levels of embarrassment and glee) at the cheering, applauding, weeping crowds.

Varric looked from one face to the next, picking out the ones he knew. Harritt and Dagna, actually out of the undercroft for a change. Horizon. Michel de Chevin. Flissa, no longer a barmaid but a Chantry sister. Cabot. Eustace Morris, the Inquisition’s quartermaster. Gatsi.  _Their lives weren’t just saved – they were changed. We all were. Probably forever._

He thought of Hawke, then, and Carver. The ache would never heal, not completely, but it was a pain with which he was learning to live.

The companions followed their Inquisitor up the first flight of stairs, waiting in the upper bailey while she presented herself to the advisors, who stood waiting on the landing. Varric honestly didn’t know if he’d ever been prouder of anyone or anything in his life as he watched the weary, triumphant mage nod to her advisors as they bowed. No one else in Thedas could have done what she did.

Dorian, standing to his left, nudged him. “You have the most ridiculously dewy-eyed expression right now,” he informed Varric. “I thought perhaps someone should warn you. Not that you’re not entitled, all things considered, but it does look a little out of place on your features.”

“What can I say? I’m a sentimentalist.” He kept his tone deliberately dry.

Having done a bit more waving at the crowd, Bethany allowed herself to be ushered into the keep, and everybody followed suit. While she was diverted in conversation with Leliana, Varric found a chair near his usual spot, claimed a tankard and a plate, and started helping himself to the feast Josephine had somehow organized. Sera and Cole were at his table too, but Cole didn’t seem inclined to speak much at all, while Sera was engrossed in conversation with Dagna. A very giggly conversation, in point of fact. Varric wasn’t sure who had introduced the two of them, but given Sera’s general appetite for mayhem and Dagna’s ability to craft it, he was pretty sure this was bound to be a disaster. On the other hand, far be it from him to deny them their fun.

One person, he noted, was particularly _not_ present for the party, and Varric’s curiosity got the better of him. “Ruffles,” he called, beckoning her to where he could ask, “where’s Grand Duchess Stand-up Comedian?”

“Per the wishes of the future Divine Victoria,” said Josephine, sounding amused, “she is spending the next year on a heavily guarded pilgrimage to a number of sacred locations throughout Thedas. Leliana proposed it to Bethany, who agreed that it could perhaps do her some good.”

“You three are diabolical, you know that? Remind me never to cross any of you.” Her only reply was a merry laugh as she went to check on the caterer.

Varric occupied himself with eating, and regaling some listeners with an only somewhat exaggerated version of the events of the final battle. How long it was before Bethany found him, he wasn’t entirely sure. “Did you eat, Sunshine?” he asked, glancing up at her. “There’s an empty chair here with your name on it, and this roast is one of the best I’ve ever tasted. Come on, have a seat.”

“All right.” She gave him a little grin as she did. “Did you get any of the tiny cakes Josephine ordered from Val Royeaux? Avoid the ones with anise and deep mushroom – Leliana tells me they’re known as ‘the Exquisite Misery’ and I think I know why.”

“That sounds revolting. I’m not too shocked it’s Orlesian.” He chuckled, cutting a slice of roast for her. “Well, Milady Sunshine, this is your night. Are you enjoying?”

“It’s nice to take a break,” she admitted. “We still have work to do, though. Corypheus is defeated, but some of his more distant outposts of Venatori won’t have gotten the news right away. There’s a possible slaving operation in the Hissing Wastes that needs to be shut down, and we still have to get into the Forbidden Oasis – our scouts report there are Venatori there, too.”

“I can hardly wait,” he replied dryly, adding some potatoes to her plate. “Ah, well. I’m at your disposal. But let’s try to have one night off first, okay?”

“That’s fair. When do you plan to go back to Kirkwall?”

Varric shrugged. “When you do. I told you I’d stick with you.”

“You’re sweet. We’ll head across the Waking Sea once we clean up some more messes on this side of it.” She sighed. “It will be good to go home.”

“Yeah, it will. But first things first,” he added, nudging her fork. “ _Eat_.”

“Oh, all right.” Bethany giggled.

* * *

The party lasted well into the night. Sera eventually was found asleep under the table, just like she had been on the night of the Wicked Grace game. Bull and Dorian, much to Varric’s shock, slipped out at some point together – when had _that_ little development occurred? How had he missed it? He could only assume he had been distracted with trying to keep Bethany sane and healthy; given Dorian’s affection for her, maybe she had more details. He was going to have to ask.

He looked around the hall, trying to spot the Inquisitor in question. She was near the dais, apparently saying good night to her advisors, and paused to drink in the sight of the hall and her friends with a soft, slightly despondent smile. Concerned by that expression, Varric headed in her direction, only managing to reach her as she went to open the door to her quarters.

“Sunshine, are you all right?”

She turned, still gripping the door handle, and nodded at him. “I’m fine, Varric. I promise. I’m just... partied out.”

“Understandable. Go on up to bed.”

Bethany hesitated. “Come with me for a moment? I want to talk to you about something.”

Baffled, he nevertheless nodded. “Sure.” Ignoring what may or may not have been a stifled giggle behind him, he followed her through the ramshackle corridor and up the stairs. Dane was already asleep on her bed, curled up near the pillows. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just... well...” She looked unusually flustered all of a sudden. “I wanted to thank you. I could never have gotten through all of this without you.”

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place,” Varric replied wryly, “so I don’t think thanks are in order. But if it makes you feel better, you’re welcome.”

She smiled at that, and turned toward her eastern balcony. “Oh! Isn’t that beautiful?” she said, walking through the magnificent glass doors. The sun was starting to peek over the Frostbacks, painting the sky a deep orange and glittering on the snow.

Varric chuckled, joining her and leaning on the rail at her side. “Well, would you look at that? The song was right, Sunshine. The dawn has come.”


	28. It May As Well Be From Someone Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Corypheus done and down, the Inquisitor and her inner circle decide where to go next. First stop, the Hissing Wastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be my last update for several days, as I'll be heading to my favorite annual convention later this week. (If you were wondering, it's called Zenkaikon, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I'm running the Dragon Age panel.) Meanwhile, have some more dwarf-and-mage antics to tide you over until I get back. Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing!

Varric thought it was perfectly reasonable that they took a few days to relax, following the battle. There was a lot of sleeping to be done, of course. There were also a lot of important people suddenly interested in being Bethany’s new best friends, which she seemed to find thoroughly amusing, and Skyhold was put through its paces welcoming even more visiting dignitary types than usual.

There were also some farewells to be said, in the days first following the battle. Morrigan and Kieran were the first to leave, which surprised no one. Varric had actually hoped to witness their departure, since he was terribly curious as to how they would get the giant mirror out of Skyhold (or how they had gotten it in there in the first place) without help. But Blackbird was as mysterious as ever, and she and the kid all but disappeared in the night like a breath of wind.

“You think we’ll ever see her again?” he asked Bethany.

“At this point, I’m not ruling out any possibilities,” she replied.

Once he was rested and recovered from his wounds, Blackwall was determined to uphold his sentence from the Inquisitor, and be presented to the Wardens for judgment. “I don’t know if they’ll put me through the Joining, or have me executed, or exile me to the Sea of Ash,” he said. “Whatever they decide, I accept my fate. Just know that being here, fighting at your side, has given me the strength to do that. You gave me more of a chance than anyone else would have, and you have my undying respect, Inquisitor.”

Vivienne was the next to depart. Varric couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but he suspected she was almost a little bit miffed about Leliana being chosen as Divine. He supposed she’d been quietly championing Cassandra, or something. In any case, she decided it was time to return to Orlais. “Laurent assures me that I am welcome to return to my suite on the Ghislain estate at any time,” she explained to Bethany, “but I won’t linger there long. He has his own family to consider. I’ll spend a few days with them, and then return to my rooms at court. Do write to me often, though, darling – I predict that great things yet lie ahead of you.”

After about a fortnight of visits and goodbyes and extensive napping, however, Bethany seemed keen to get back on the road. “I think we should take on the Hissing Wastes first,” she said. “The Forbidden Oasis can probably wait – we might not even have all the key fragments yet. But if the Venatori are enslaving people and hauling them out to the desert, that really needs attention.”

“Hissing Wastes, huh? Not the most inviting name I can imagine.”

“Yes, I’ll admit that I don’t understand the reasoning for the name. But our scouts report that the Venatori are doing something very odd, which I suppose accounts for them needing slaves.”

Varric paused. “All right, I’ll bite. What are they doing?”

She smiled, a little incredulously. “Apparently, they’re digging up dwarven ruins.”

“In the _desert_? How deep are they digging?!”

“Not very! There are structures on the surface which are of apparent dwarven origin,” she replied. “The scouts can’t make heads or tails of it, and they don’t want to get too close because they’d be hopelessly outclassed. We need to get out to northwestern Orlais and find out what’s really going on.”

“Well, I have to admit I’m curious now,” he conceded. “When do you want to leave?”

“I think we can head out tomorrow. If we leave in the morning, we should only need to spend two or three nights on the road.”

Varric suspected that Bethany was a little too eager to be back to work, and he also suspected that he knew why. She had told him, after Adamant, that she intended to delay the bulk of her sorrow over the loss of Hawke and Carver until Corypheus was no longer a danger to the world. That time had come, and she was trying to hide from it. He couldn’t blame her – he was pretty much the last person in the world who should be telling anybody what to do with their inconvenient emotions – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to worry about her.

As he’d noted previously, worrying about Hawkes was something he did extremely well, and he only had one left.

“A suggestion, though, Sunshine?” he offered. “Remember that chat we had about you taking some time off when the world was more stable, visiting Val Royeaux and doing some shopping?”

“Oh, I didn’t forget. You promised me a couple Orlesian gowns,” she said with a teasing smile.

“Naturally. Why don’t we do that on our way back?”

“I imagine we’ll all be glad for a chance to wash the sand out of our hair. That’s a great idea.”

* * *

“Well,” said Varric as they reached the forward camp, “if there’s ever a competition for ‘least scenic scenery,’ I’d say this place has a good shot at the title.”

It wasn’t that the Hissing Wastes was ugly, or difficult to view. It was just… _empty_. There seemed to be nothing for miles except sand, sand, rocks, sand, a lantern, rocks, sand, and sand. Even Scout Harding, as she came to greet them, was apologetic. “I did the best I could to chart the area, Your Worship,” she said, “but this space has nothing but… space. If there’s nothing of value here, I’d almost say let the Venatori have it.”

“No, I’m sure they’re here for a reason,” Bethany mused. “We need to find out what. And you said they had slaves – if nothing else, we have to free them.”

“I can’t argue with that,” agreed the scout. “I did find something for you, at least. Like I said in my initial report, there are old dwarven ruins here. On the surface! That’s impossible, but there you go. The Red Templars are digging them out, with Venatori supervision.”

“That’s what we need to investigate. What in the world could they possibly want?” Her Sunny Worship sighed, and shook her head. “We’ll need to find it first, whatever it is.”

“I saw some Red Templars heading northwest of here,” Harding added. “They might be a good start. I found this map on a dead one – maybe it shows where they’re headed. Good luck.” She smiled briefly. “For my part, I need to get back to Skyhold. Lady Montilyet said that I’m needed to help with something being organized by the University of Orlais, and I have to admit that I’m kind of curious to find out what they could be doing that they’d need _me_.”

“Of course. Have a safe trip back,” said Bethany warmly.

“Dwarven ruins on the surface. That must be a year’s worth of argument for the scholars,” Dorian remarked, as they made their way to the camp’s fireside. He shivered violently. “It’s _freezing_! Why is a desert freezing?”

“It’s nighttime,” Bethany explained. One of the moons was rising, full and enormous. “With the sun down, the temperature drops tremendously. I remember reading about it, although I can’t remember why it’s the case.”

“It _is_ bitterly cold,” Cassandra agreed, “but I have never seen a clearer night.” She was regarding their surroundings with more admiration than the rest of the group.

“It wasn’t nearly this cold in the Western Approach,” Dorian complained.

“The Approach has a lot more canyons. The rock formations would block the wind. Out here there’s not much of anything.” Bethany shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. Let’s sit here by the fire and have a look at what Harding was able to put on this map.”

Varric thought the fact that a colony of dwarves had been established on the surface – on _purpose_ – was weird enough, but it actually managed to get weirder from there. As they made their way through the desert over the next several days, they unearthed more Venatori camps, collected more maps, and uncovered more details about what exactly they wanted in the Wastes. The maps began leading them to a series of tombs, actual dwarven tombs above ground, each of which was magically sealed with that veilfire stuff and could only be unlocked by lighting the torches in the correct order. “You ever notice that for a people with no mages, dwarves use an awful lot of magic?” he remarked, watching Bethany light one of the torches in question.

“Any theories as to why?” she asked.

“Personally, I think it’s a compensation thing. We can’t spit lightning or freeze anyone’s ass off, so here, have a rune that sets your sword on fire.”

Sunshine laughed. “Well, I’ve never thought of it that way, but you may have a point.” She carried her torch to one of the inscriptions. “These poems are interesting. And sad. It sounds like whoever wrote them really didn’t ever expect anyone to read them. What do you suppose happened to this colony, anyway?”

“Well, here’s what I know about this Paragon Fairel,” said Varric. “He’s considered the greatest rune maker in dwarven history. He lived some while before the First Blight, when the dwarven empire stretched all over the place and there were a lot more settlements and kingdoms, most of which tended to fight with each other. A lot of noble houses decided to up and leave to get away from the mess, but as far as recorded history knows, House Fairel died in the Deep Roads.” He shook his head. “The head Shaper in Orzammar must drink heavily every time they get a letter with my seal on it, with all the stuff I’ve sent them since the Inquisition started.”

Dorian was helpfully writing down the inscriptions carved on the tablets, so that they could be put in the correct order. They had found a couple Venatori who had been so unfortunate as to light the torches in the _wrong_ order, and had apparently been attacked by some kind of demon because of it. “I imagine that rather than drinking heavily, they have extensive side bets on what you’ll tell them each time,” he remarked. He winced, hearing the wind howl. “Ugh. Does that noise ever _stop_?”

“Well, it’s sand blowing on sand in a place full of wind and sand,” Bull replied.

“Thank you, that makes so much more sense now.”

* * *

They did their traveling by night, because as cold as the dark hours in the desert were, the daytime hours were unbearably hot and stifling. These were spent hiding in shady places when they could be found, alternately sleeping and waiting for the sun to go down and hoping they wouldn’t encounter too many sandstorms.

When they weren’t exploring ancient forgotten tombs, they were killing Venatori and releasing the prisoners in their cages on wheels, directing them to Inquisition camps where they could be fed and have any injuries tended. “If you want to return to Tevinter – or anyplace else – we’ll help you get there,” Bethany promised one of them, wrapping a spare blanket around the shaking woman’s shoulders. “Or if you want to stay with the Inquisition, you’ll be welcome.”

There were other things to be done in this Maker-forsaken end of Orlais too. A few stray rifts had to be closed, and their demons expunged. Some rare herbs could be found inexplicably growing out of the sand, and samples and seeds of these were packed off to Skyhold for the possible use of the healers. Some more key fragments for the Forbidden Oasis were collected, along with a few more of those stone panels that Gatsi the mason was arranging on the walls of the Skyhold keep.

But the tombs were the main thing. They found the doors where Fairel and his house had apparently emerged from the Deep Roads, squinting in the desert sun, probably terrified that they’d fall up into the sky. (Bartrand was like that for a large part of Varric’s childhood. Varric used to find it funny.) The doors were sealed by crushed stone, and it was impossible to say whether that had simply been caused by the passage of time or if someone had deliberately engineered such a thing.

The map given to them by Scout Harding led them to a place called the Four Pillars Tomb. There were five tombs, in total, and inside of each they found a number of things. More of those stone carvings, some books in unexpectedly pristine condition, spiders, the occasional dwarven relic, and a piece of a key. Maps to each of the other four tombs were scattered around the desert, either in Venatori camps or inside the other tombs, which suggested that someone really _did_ want them to be found sooner or later. Maybe the dwarf who built the tombs had suspected they would be the only part of the colony – “the place where we can meet in peace,” according to a crumbling document they found – that would survive the ages, and he didn’t want Fairel’s work to be completely forgotten by history.

On one hand, it was sort of thrilling, entering long-sealed chambers from a colony that hadn’t existed for close to a thousand years. On the other hand, well, it was dwarfy shit. “‘Real’ dwarves don’t like the surface,” Varric snarked, as they exited the fourth tomb. “‘Real’ dwarves say leaving the Stone is death. Whoever built this colony didn’t give two tin shits about tradition.” He could sort of respect that, really.

“Two tin shits, Varric?” Bethany gave him a wry look.

“Eh, this place is making me think too much about dwarfy stuff. Let’s find that last tomb.”

* * *

The tomb in question was the one at Sunstop Mountain, and Bethany used magic to reassemble the five key fragments into an actual, well, key. “A rather roundabout way of hiding one’s key under the doormat,” Dorian remarked.

“You know,” said Varric, “I don’t buy that stuff about dwarven ancestors living on in the Stone, and we’re above ground anyway. But something about this place gives me the creeps.”

“Are you serious? Here, of all places we’ve been?” Cassandra looked and sounded genuinely surprised.

He shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense. Just that I’d like to leave and never look back.”

“Soon,” Sunshine promised in her gentle way. “This must unlock the actual tomb of Paragon Fairel. Whatever the Venatori were trying to get, it must be inside.”

“But we’ve already killed all the Venatori out here,” Bull grumbled. “It’s not like they can get it anymore.”

“True,” she admitted, “but we’ve come this far.”

They had quite some distance to travel across the desert to the final resting place of the Paragon, which was – much to Bull’s delight and Varric’s chagrin – guarded, intentionally or otherwise, by a high dragon. Bethany shook her head and guided the group to skirt the edges of the little valley outside the tomb, leaving the creature still asleep. “Once we’re done here,” she whispered, “I’ll order our people to pull out. No one should be in any danger from the dragon after that.”

“But boss,” said Bull, disappointed, “can’t we…?”

“Not this time, Bull. Come on.”

The dragon was thoroughly content to ignore them in favor of her continued nap, for which Varric at least was grateful. Bethany slid the key into the lock on the majestic tomb and they entered, listening to the unnatural stillness inside. Fairel himself slumbered within a carved stone sarcophagus in the middle of the tomb, and one final poem from his son rounded out the tale of the colony. “I wonder what became of the rest of the dwarves who once lived here,” Cassandra mused, looking over Dorian’s notes. “Could they have gone back underground?”

“I guess it’s possible,” Varric said thoughtfully. “I mean, according to everything I’ve ever read, Orzammar thinks these people died before they ever reached the surface. If they did go back underground, the Shaperate never got the memo. Either they went to one of the other dwarven kingdoms, who didn’t bother to send word to Orzammar, or they died trying to get back there. Or maybe they just died out up here. Not sure how many of them made it to the surface in the first place.”

He watched Bethany check for wards on a large treasure chest before working it open and extracting the contents. There was a magic ring, followed by a dagger. “The hairs on my arm are standing on end,” she remarked, hefting the blade lightly before passing it to Bull for safekeeping. “And then there’s this.” The final treasure was a rune schematic. “I’ve never seen a rune quite like this one – I suppose this must have been what the Venatori wanted so badly.”

Varric sighed. “You’re holding the legacy of a Paragon,” he explained. “Empires used to kill for those. Heck, they still do, so try not to drop it in the sand,” he added fondly, and smiled as she gave him a mocking little smirk. “Whatever it does, it’s probably ancient and invaluable.”

“And here I thought you didn’t like talking about dwarfy stuff,” she teased him.

He lifted his hands in an almost amused sort of shrug. “You want an encyclopedia entry, it may as well be from someone charming.”

* * *

Several days later, the Inquisition presence (including all of the rescued slaves) had been removed from the Hissing Wastes, and Lady Hawke and her personal entourage were set up in a cozy hotel in the Belle Marche in Val Royeaux. It was a little too clean and civilized for Varric’s tastes – nothing like the Hanged Man or Kirkwall in general – but it was a city and he was happy to be out of the desert. He had promised Bethany a shopping trip, and he would deliver; but first he had a letter to the Shaperate that needed to be written while the details were still pretty fresh.

 

> _Lord Shaper Czibor,_
> 
> _Yes, it’s me again, sending you news of yet another dwarven discovery on the surface courtesy of the Inquisition. I hope you’re sitting down, because this one is a doozy._
> 
> _I know that the Memories indicate that Paragon Fairel and the houses which followed him all perished in the Deep Roads. We have found incontrovertible evidence that says otherwise. They emerged from the Deep Roads in a part of Orlais known as the Hissing Wastes and established a colony on the surface. There’s not much left of it anymore, but here’s what I can tell you._
> 
> _Circumstances forced us to excavate a series of tombs in the vicinity of the colony. Apart from some statues, and stone roads which are mostly covered by sand, these are pretty much the only structures that still exist. However, more documentation survived than I would have expected over the course of a thousand years. It seems that Fairel, since he was running away from all kinds of fighting down there, named his colony Kal Repartha. By all the accounting we could find, Kal Repartha flourished during Fairel’s own lifetime; but after his death, his two sons had an ultimately fatal quarrel about how best to run the place and it all seems to have gone to pieces after that. The surviving son is apparently the one who built the tombs that we found. There was no record of what became of him or the rest of the colony._
> 
> _I’m enclosing with this letter copies of the inscriptions we found on carved tablets outside of the six tombs, which were composed by Fairel’s son. If you want to commission surface engineers to continue our work in excavating the tombs, they’ll find a number of artifacts inside which we left untouched, including books and relics predating the First Blight. Per the wishes of the Inquisitor, I’m also enclosing a copy of the map we ourselves made of the Hissing Wastes region, which should make it a lot easier to locate these things._
> 
> _However, be sure to warn anyone you send there about the dragon. I’m told she’s a Sandy Howler, and she’s made her nest right outside of Paragon Fairel’s final resting place._
> 
> _Respectfully,_
> 
> _Varric Tethras_
> 
> _Deshyr of Kirkwall, Dwarven Merchants’ Guild_

 

Whatever Czibor wanted to do with the stuff was up to him. Maybe the Shaperate would leave it alone – maybe they’d continue to deny that there could ever have been such a colony as Kal Repartha in the first place. Or maybe he’d eat this up and start sending anyone he could find to bring back anything they could carry. But at least now he’d know he had options.

As Varric was folding up the letter and addressing the envelope, there came a knock at his door. “It’s open.”

It opened a few inches, and Bethany’s head poked into the room. “Hey, I came to check on you. It’s getting a bit late in the day – are you hungry?”

“Is it?” He glanced through the window. “Huh, yeah, I guess it is. I could definitely eat, Sunshine.”

“Good. Come on, then. I sent Dorian to claim a table for our group in the restaurant downstairs. We’ll have a nice relaxing evening, maybe play a few hands of cards after we eat.”

“And then tomorrow you get to pick out some dresses. I didn’t forget, don’t worry.”

“I trust you.”


	29. Respect Local Traditions Now and Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang (minus a few more members) heads to the Frostback Basin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return triumphant from Zenkaikon - hello to any new readers who found me because of the Dragon Age panel! And an extra special hello to GameMom! 
> 
> We're getting very close to the thing so many of you have been eagerly awaiting. He's almost figured it out. Meanwhile, this chapter contains a minor call back to Origins.

Josephine was only too happy to welcome them back to Skyhold. Varric suspected that this meant she was going to have more work for them to do, although she was perfectly content to delay the announcement of said work until after she’d gushed over Bethany’s new gowns _and_ expressed her gratitude for a box of Carastian candies which had been brought for her from Val Royeaux. “Really, Inquisitor, you are too considerate. I will lock these in my desk and savor them for a month.”

“I remembered you saying that you liked them, and I thought it was the least I could do for you after all your hard work. Have we missed much while we were gone?” Bethany asked.

“A few things. Please, get yourselves settled first,” Josephine replied. “We will convene the war council at your leisure, and then we can go over something which has been brought to our attention.”

“I knew she had work for us,” said Varric lightly.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “But it’s quite something out of the ordinary. You might find it interesting.”

* * *

As they were informed that night over dinner, this ‘something out of the ordinary’ was a situation developing in the Frostback Basin – the area at the base of the mountains, which was chiefly populated by Avvar tribes. This was also where Scout Harding had been sent after she returned from the Hissing Wastes. Some professor at the University of Orlais was doing research about Ameridan, the last person to hold the rank of Inquisitor prior to Bethany, who had disappeared in the Frostback Basin some eight hundred years earlier. The Inquisition, naturally, was taking an interest in the guy’s research and had sent a number of support personnel to assist him, with Scout Harding as their leader.

“Well, that’s very interesting,” Cassandra noted. “But why are we needed, exactly?”

“I have to go,” Bethany explained, cutting her vegetables, “because there are some rifts lingering down there that need sealing. But Harding is asking for assistance because there’s an unfriendly Avvar tribe which is making life difficult for our people.”

“Define ‘making life difficult,’ Sunshine,” said Varric.

“...trying to kill them.”

“Yes, I’d say that would make life difficult.” He shook his head. “Are we all going?”

“That’s really up to each of you,” she replied. “I’ll be glad for the company, whoever decides to come.”

* * *

Varric honestly wasn’t sure which surprised him more – the fact that the Seeker was not going to the Frostbacks with them, or the fact that he was actually a little disappointed by it.

He wouldn’t say that he and Cassandra were friends. Not exactly. But at the same time, they’d sort of proven a couple of times that they weren’t keen on letting one another die and were even willing to kill in order to prevent it from happening. “You’re not even a little bit curious to watch me traipse through whatever natural nonsense awaits us in the Basin?” he asked.

“As much as I love listening to you complain about everything under the sun,” she replied dryly, “it’s time I began my efforts to rebuild the Seekers. Bethany and I discussed it when she accompanied me to confront Lord Seeker Lucius.”

“How did I miss that little adventure?”

“We sneaked out of the castle while you were taking a nap.” Varric was somewhat unnerved by the fact that he couldn’t actually tell if she was kidding or not. “Many of us have been killed through his betrayal of the order, but I was able to find a few leads. Some yet live, as best I can tell, and I intend to go and locate them if I can. We should all share in the decision of what to do with what I have learned about our history.”

“And this can’t wait until after we get back?” he asked, puzzled.

“I thought you would be eager to be rid of me,” she retorted.

“I wasn’t, actually, but now that you mention it...”

“I ought to drag you along.”

“Be still my heart! I’ve grown on you!”

“Like fungus.” She smiled, however. “But your place is with the Inquisitor. We all know that. Meanwhile, I must strike out in search of my fellows before their trails go too cold. I only waited this long because Corypheus took priority.”

“No, I get it.” He gave a sort of non-committal wave. “You do what you have to do, Seeker. Just... be careful out there. I’d hate to go to the trouble of reserving you a copy of that Orlesian thriller and then you never even read it.”

“As usual, Varric, your priorities are intact.”

“Can I assume that you’re not going alone? That elf of yours is tagging along?”

Cassandra turned an interesting color, which amused him. He was going to miss that. “He has agreed to accompany me, yes. I don’t feel it’s wise to undertake something so enormous on my own.”

“Good. I would hate to hear you were leaving him behind,” Varric replied. “Rumor has it that he has a tendency to pine.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to use that in your writing.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be anxiously awaiting the book in which I do.”

“...perhaps.”

Sera was also not going along to the Frostback Basin, although Varric found that less surprising. Buttercup was like him, in one respect at least – she was raised in a city and that was where she felt most comfortable. Besides, she had her Red Jennies collective of weirdos to help her create disasters, and now she had whatever was starting to blossom between her and Dagna besides. She was planning to stay at Skyhold a little bit longer, finalize her plans, and then make her way to wherever it was that she decided to go.

“I’ll be gone when you get back, yeah? But I’ll send letters, sometimes,” she told them. “And tips from the Jennies. And maybe pies, or something.”

“We’ll miss you,” said Bethany, smiling. “And your unique perspective, of course.”

“Eh, don’t be frigging daft,” Sera replied pleasantly. “And don’t make it weird. Not disappearing forever, am I? Just going out into the world to do some Inquisiting of my own. Kind of.”

* * *

A few days later, therefore, it was only Varric, Bull, Dorian, and Cole who accompanied their Lady Inquisitor as she made her way to the foot of the Frostbacks. The Basin was, it had to be acknowledged, beautiful and vibrant in its own overgrown way. Of course, being a sort of swamp, it was also soggy and teeming with unpleasant wildlife; poisonous spiders stalked the riverbanks, weirdly colored birds occasionally dove toward them as though mistaking them for prey, and Varric didn’t even want to get started on the insects. “I’ve finally found a place I hate more than the Deep Roads,” he grumbled.

“Not possible,” Bethany replied sweetly.

“I don’t know, Sunshine, it’s definitely a close race. I can’t say too many positive things about the Deep Roads, but they _are_ dry.”

To their credit, he saw that the Inquisition scouts and soldiers who had been originally sent to the location had done their best to make the camp look almost like a little village. Varric was actually rather impressed – there were _buildings_. Well, one, at least. There was also a protective fence surrounding the encampment, and according to Scout Harding (who welcomed them as cheerfully as ever), plans had been drafted to establish other camps in the vicinity, mostly in the form of treehouses. She wasn’t too enthusiastic about this, herself, being somewhat afraid of heights, and Varric wondered if Bethany had known about that when she kept Harding from being swept up into the sky during their last confrontation with Corypheus.

The building in question was the home-away-from-home of one Bram Kenric, a professor from the University of Orlais who was spearheading the expedition. He was a native of Starkhaven, as evidenced by how much his accent reminded Varric of Sebastian, with friendly eyes and the manners of a gentleman. Bethany liked him right away, Varric could tell, and the professor was only too eager to share with her what he had thus far learned about her predecessor.

Harding also liked Kenric. While the professor monopolized Sunshine for a few minutes, Varric gave his fellow dwarf a sort of nudge. “Hey, Freckles, what’s this guy like?”

“The professor? He’s... really nice. His puns are awful, but he’s very sweet.” She chuckled, and Varric was amused to see that there was a distinctly pink tinge to her freckled cheeks. “I saved his life when we first got here, because he was reading and almost fell off a ledge, and ever since then he calls me ‘Lady Harding.’ I told him it’s not necessary, but...”

“Don’t knock it. Everybody should have at least one affectionate nickname given to them in their lives.”

She tilted her head. “Is that why you give out so many?”

“That’s got more to do with everybody I meet being a character in my story. But now that you say it, I guess it’s that other thing too.” He glanced at the door to the little residence, where Bethany was emerging. “Well, Sunshine, what do we do first?”

“First, we get settled here in the camp,” she replied, moving to join them. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Harding, you mentioned that there are two Avvar holds in this area?”

“Yes, Your Worship.” Harding nodded. “The Jaws of Hakkon are the nasty pieces of work who keep attacking us. Stone-Bear Hold has been friendly – a little wary, but polite. They’ve traded with us for some supplies and their thane is interested in what we’re doing here. She’d like to meet with you, when you have the chance.”

“I’m sure we can make that happen.” Bethany gave a small sigh and glanced around the encampment. “This is quite something. Do we need to requisition any additional supplies?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Harding replied, “but the quartermaster’s representative will have an idea. I can show you where to find him.”

“Good, let’s do that. Varric, would you be a dear and tell the others? It felt like a rather lengthy trek to get here, so I’d like us to try and get a little rest this evening before we start taking on the Basin.”

“I’ll handle it, Sunshine, don’t worry.” She looked sort of pre-emptively tired, and it made him uneasy. “We’ll get the gear unloaded and see about some dinner, so make sure you come and have some, all right?”

She nodded, and gave his shoulder a swift pat. “Thanks.”

* * *

Their visit to Stone-Bear Hold the next day was pleasant enough. Thane Svarah Sun-Hair was a polite, sensible woman who obviously respected the Inquisitor – three things that Varric could appreciate about anybody. She explained that her people couldn’t take up arms against the Jaws of Hakkon because of a peace agreement, but if Bethany managed to find evidence that the Jaws had violated that agreement, that would be a different story. The fact that the hold’s resident pet bear was missing might be related to the matter.

“A bear. We’re going to find a bear,” Varric muttered to Dorian. “On purpose.”

“Why not? We’ve found plenty of them without trying.”

Most of the people who lived in the hold seemed to kind of look at them in some confusion, but they had guest status and nobody minded them too terribly much. As usual, there was a lot to be done; quite apart from the whole Jaws of Hakkon nonsense, there was an injured young man who needed them to find and kill some Fade-touched animals to honor his dead father, a fisherwoman who asked them to track down her missing cousin, and a fighting master who invited them to participate in some trials to honor one of their gods.

“Can we, boss? It sounds like fun.” Bull looked hopeful.

“Maybe when we’re done with what we came here to do,” she replied, smiling.

Bethany decided that finding the fisherwoman’s cousin would be the easiest task, and possibly the most urgent, so they set out to accomplish this first. Runa had left a decent trail of clues which indicated that she went climbing in the hills overlooking a marsh identified on Harding’s map as Swamp Kuldsdotten. Sure enough, they tracked her to where she was facing off with some of the wretched local wildlife. “Just in time!” she called cheerfully, spotting their approach. “Join the fray! The fight’s a worthy one!”

Between the Inquisitor, her companions, and the young woman herself, the beast was quickly dispatched. “Well fought,” their new acquaintance complimented them. “I’d heard lowlanders were about – you would be the Inquisitor, from the hand?”

“That’s me.” Bethany nodded. “Your cousin asked us to find you.”

“Oh?” Runa paused. “Oh, the fishing! I was to help Linna with the fishing! But I must make an offering to the gods first. Shall I give your names in the prayer?”

“Er... maybe? I’m not sure what you mean, could you tell me more?”

“I’ve climbed this hill a thousand times,” Runa explained. “Today, it was as if a wind from the spirits lifted me. I was going to thank the gods with a brace of nugs – that beast must have scented the meat.”

“And the Avvar gods would want nugs?”

“The Lady of the Skies sends her birds, and Korth Mountain-Father sends his wolves and bears. They wouldn’t normally hear the prayer of a lowlander, but since you helped in the fight, I’ll speak for you.”

“Oh – well,” said Bethany after a slight pause, “that – that’s quite an honor, thank you.”

“The spirits will remember,” said Cole, thoughtfully. “It’s nice to be remembered.”

Dorian made no comment, but Bull was visibly uncomfortable as Runa approached a nearby altar. “It generally helps to respect local traditions now and then,” Varric told Bethany.

None of them were quite prepared for what came next. Runa gave her prayer, mentioning the Inquisitor by title, and a reddish figure appeared briefly in front of the altar. Bethany gasped. “I – I felt something!”

“A blessing? That’s a good sign!” Runa said happily. “You bring fine luck, Inquisitor! I’d best get down to Linna and help – I’ll tell her the story. Maybe it’ll bring a smile to her face.”

* * *

They weren’t going to get to everything in one day, of course, but Professor Kenric had advised Bethany that they ought to visit some island in the lake known as the Lady’s Rest. For that, they needed a boat, and for _that_ , the boat master needed them to get explicit permission from Thane Sun-Hair. So, after dispatching some Jaws of Hakkon brutes who were menacing the boat master, they trooped back up to the hold and the amused Thane, who told them they were welcome to the boat. “Our trader has just returned from a visit to the lowlands,” she added, “and is eager to meet you. If you have time before going back to the lake, he’d welcome a visit.”

Trader Helsdim was, apparently, the most literate member of Stone-Bear Hold. That accounted for his reaction to their arrival. “Hold a moment,” he said in an awed voice. “You... you’re...  _you’re Varric Tethras_!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Varric replied flatly. Bethany started to giggle, and he shot her what he imagined was a very unconvincing glare. “Laugh it up, Sunshine.”

“I’ve read _all_ your books,” said the trader. “ _And_ I have all the printings of _Hard in Hightown_ , even the banned version! I’ve read it thrice!”

“Well... nice to know the ‘rocks fall, everyone dies’ ending found its audience.” He glanced at Bethany again, and she gave him a smile and a little encouraging nod which he understood, even though he wished he didn’t. With a sigh, he held out his hand. “If you’ve got it here, I’ll sign it for you.”

“Oh – would you, truly? Give me a few moments, I know it’s here somewhere but I have to find it.”

Bethany giggled again. “Why don’t you finish that up,” she suggested, “and we’ll go speak with the augur? Thane Sun-Hair thought that I ought to meet with him while we’re in the hold, he might have some advice for us.”

“What’s an augur?”

“Our spiritual leader,” said the trader, helpfully. “He intercedes with the gods on our behalf and tells us of their will. He also guides mages in the hold as they learn to use their gifts.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m not gonna be much use in that conversation,” Varric replied. “Okay, Sunshine, I’ll meet the rest of you outside.”

“Eh, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait outside myself,” said Bull. “I’m not going to enjoy myself in the augur’s hut either. I’ll just stand guard by that compass rock we passed on the way in.”

“Sure, Bull, that’s fine.” Bethany gave the trader a friendly nod, and the rest of the group followed her out of the building.

Helsdim, meanwhile, was eagerly rummaging through piles of books and papers. “Here it is! Here – if you’ll sign it just here.”

“Sure.”

This accomplished, Varric glanced outside, but saw only Bull standing by himself. He paused, taking a second look at the trader’s wares. “So... where have you been selling your stuff?”

“I try to go to Val Royeaux at least once a year. I don’t think the others in the hold believe me when I try to tell them how beautiful it is! But I love going there,” Helsdim replied. “I’ve also been to Denerim. It doesn’t have the delicious cakes that Val Royeaux does, but I’m quite partial to the meat pies, and the Wonders of Thedas shop carries some unique items I’ve never seen anywhere else. That’s where I was most recently.”

“Wonders of Thedas?” Varric repeated. “I’ve never been to Denerim, what’s that?”

“I suppose it used to be run by their Circle of Magi, when there still was such a thing. I’m not clear on who provides the wares now.” Helsdim gave a mildly confused shrug. “But everything there has some sort of magical value. It’s a thoroughly fascinating place to visit, but we don’t have many mages in the hold so I don’t buy much when I chance to be there.”

“Did you get anything this time?”

“Just this.” The trader opened one of his chests of wares and, after a few seconds of searching, extracted a necklace. It was a faceted crystal, carefully polished so that it caught the light and reflected various colors as it turned this way and that on its chain. “The Hearthstone Pendant, the proprietor called it. He was rather vague about its origins, but it’s supposed to give the wearer a bit of protection from the cold.”

“Hm.” Varric studied the stone. “All right, what do you want for it?”

“Two gold?”

“Done.” He fished the coins out of a pouch on his belt. “Give you an extra if you’ve got some kind of little box for it.”

“I think I might have something. Let me take a look.”

* * *

There was a rift on the far western side of the Inquisition camp. They returned there that evening, not quite ready to take the boat to the island, and turned their attention to closing it. The scouts had done well to avoid it thus far, but that could only protect them for so long.

“To tell you the truth,” said Bethany, when they were finished, “I sort of hate closing rifts.”

“Why’s that, Sunshine?”

She looked a little guilty. “Every time I do, I can’t help thinking that I’m closing off one more escape route.”

“The hawks would have been safe if they had stayed,” said Cole, quietly. “But that isn’t what hawks do.”

“I know.” Her voice was sad and musical. “And maybe I shouldn’t be hoping that they can get out. But I just can’t give up completely.”

“Me neither, Sunshine,” said Varric gently. “Nothing wrong with keeping hope alive.”

“Let’s face it,” Bull added. “It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that happened since you became the Inquisitor.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.”


	30. Someplace I Hate More Than Caves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany's birthday is full of surprises, particularly for Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took him thirty chapters.

The next morning, while their beloved Inquisitor was still asleep, Varric held a quiet meeting with Dorian, Bull, and Cole. Once he understood what the occasion was, Dorian was quite thoroughly miffed. “ _Vishante kaffas_! You know, you could have _told_ me it was her birthday!”

“Honestly, it never occurred to me that you might not know,” Varric replied.

“She’s probably my closest friend in the world and I don’t even have a birthday present for her. You’re making me look bad.”

“What, you can’t wiggle your fingers and whip up a little something to give her?”

“It doesn’t work like that! Well, not exactly.” Dorian paused. “Perhaps I can transfigure something before she wakes.”

“The things she wants most are the things no one can give her,” said Cole. “She keeps a picture in her room at Skyhold, a young woman engaged to a man she did not marry. She wishes there were others like it.”

Bull and Dorian looked at Varric for a translation. “She has an old betrothal portrait of her mother,” he explained. “Back before she met Malcolm Hawke, Leandra was supposed to marry one of the nobles in Kirkwall, and they had a portrait painted. Hawke found it while we were clearing slavers out of their ancestral house. Pretty much looks like Bethany with different colored hair and eyes.”

“Oh.” Bull nodded, comprehending. “She has a picture of her mother, but she wishes she had pictures of her father and brothers. I get it.”

Varric returned the nod. Tiny was quicker on the uptake than he would have guessed on their first meeting, which was starting to feel like it had been roughly a lifetime ago. “It’s her first birthday without them. Obviously. It’s her first birthday _with_ you guys, so that helps, but it might still be rough on her.”

“Wh… huh?” They turned, and saw Bethany emerging from her tent. She blinked at them in a slightly disoriented way. “What in the world are you scoundrels up to?”

There was a general chuckle, and Varric spread his arms. “Happy birthday, Sunshine. We all wanted to start your day off right.”

“What he said.” Bull nodded.

“Indeed,” said Dorian. “Unfortunately, time waits for no man or woman, and even on your birthday, the world demands much from its Lady Inquisitor. But we’ll do what we can to make the day special for you.”

Bethany was forcing a smile, Varric could tell. Too late he realized his error, and he instantly regretted it. _It’s not just her birthday… it’s **Carver’s** too. Andraste’s ass, how could I forget?_

“You’re all very sweet,” she said. “Today’s – well – it’s not going to be easy for me. But you make it better.”

“When the hawks hatched there were two in the nest,” Cole murmured. “She has to fly on her own today.”

“Yes. Thank you, Cole.” Sunshine was fighting to live up to her nickname, but her tone was kind and grateful. “Well, could a birthday girl maybe get some breakfast?”

“I’ll see to it,” Dorian offered. “Perhaps there’s some acceptable rations to be had for the occasion – let me confer with Scout Harding.”

As Dorian made his way in Harding’s direction, and Bull ambled after him, and Cole went to find someone whose pain he could legitimately help, Varric was left to try to undo any damage he had unwittingly caused. “I’m sorry, Sunshine, I didn’t think -”

“It’s all right, Varric,” she said in her gentle way. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. It hurts, of course, and it’s always going to hurt, maybe today more than any other day.”

“I’d change that for you if I could. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Her smile was more genuine this time. “I appreciate what you tried to do. To be honest, I sort of forgot about today. I guess I wanted to forget.”

“Yeah, I get that. Well, here.” He fumbled in a belt pouch and fished out the little box. “Got this for you. Don’t tell the others, they’re already mad that I didn’t give them enough notice about today.”

Apparently amused by the notion, she accepted the gift and opened it. “Oh, Varric, it’s lovely!”

“That guy in Stone-Bear who’s read all my books said it’s called the Hearthstone Pendant, and that it might help keep you a little warmer while we’re running around in the cold here. Don’t know if that’s true, but it’s kind of pretty so…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to end the sentence.

“See, this is why you’re my favorite dwarf.” Her voice had turned teasing, and sounded much more like its usual tone, which eased his mind considerably. She extracted the pendant from its trappings and fastened it around her throat, where it glinted like a tiny star in the morning light. “Thank you.”

“There’s my Sunshine. Come on, let’s go see what Sparkler managed to magic up for breakfast. Long day ahead of us, as usual.”

* * *

Following the morning meal, they made their way out to the Lady’s Rest island, which felt haunted. The Avvar certainly seemed to think it was, anyway, and as it turned out they weren’t entirely wrong. As they approached a crumbling shack on a rocky promontory, they caught sight of a rift, or something like one, which formed almost a barrier around something inside the shack. “We’re not going to leave that rift here, right?” Varric asked warily.

“Of course not. But it’s different, somehow, isn’t it?” came the reply. It was – the lack of demons alone made it different, and Bethany dispelled the first part of the green weirdness with unusual ease. As she did, an ethereal sort of voice could be heard.

“ _Telana slept. I slept. To find him in dreaming. But I… the blood… I… she’s gone._ ” The voice was mournful. “ _Telana wanted to reach Ameridan again, one more time. But she couldn’t. I couldn’t. I died. I tried to stay, but only pieces came through. You opened the sky for the rest of me._ ”

“Telana wanted to reach Ameridan?” Bethany repeated. “Who is Telana? How did she know Ameridan?”

“ _Ameridan, yes! Inquisitor! Beloved!_ ” The voice brightened, temporarily, before returning to its softer sadness. “ _I – she – came with Ameridan to hunt the dragon._ ”

“What dragon?”

“ _Huge. Power like none had seen. It came from the mountains, with the Avvar._ ” For the first time, Varric realized that a reddish sort of figure was hovering in the air, over a set of bones which had clearly lain inside the shack for a very long time. “ _Towns fell, all dead. One last favor for Emperor Drakon – slay the Avvar dragon, save Orlais._ ”

“Ameridan wasn’t just out hunting a dragon for the fun of it, like some people think,” Bethany mused. “He was acting on orders from the Emperor. That should help Professor Kenric a lot.”

“If we can prove it,” said Dorian.

“ _A secret_ ,” added the spirit. “ _Drawn by the dragon. Telana – I didn’t want to, but where Ameridan goes, I go. They fought at the shore, spirits and magic. So cold. How I found her, how she found us. They rested here, then up the river. Metal spires. A way to stop the dragon. Then Telana returned here alone, to wait for him. Forever waiting. Dreaming. Then – dead._ ”

“It’s all right,” Bethany told the spirit gently. “We’ll find him – whatever became of him. You’ve been here for a long time, and you did well. You can rest now.”

“ _Thank you_.” The voice was soft and genuinely grateful. “ _It was hard. I – she went a long time ago. I stayed because she asked. Her things are there,_ ” it added. “ _She wanted them found._ ”

And then it was gone.

* * *

It took some little time for Bethany, with Dorian and Cole’s help, to explain exactly what they had just witnessed. Varric troubled himself to write it down, partly so he would get it right later when he wrote the book and partly so he could be sure he understood it.

“Telana was a Dreamer, if I’m not misunderstanding things,” Bethany said. “Like Feynriel – you remember Feynriel, Varric?”

“Yeah, your brother saved him from being sent to the Circle and had him live with the Dalish, but then he went off to Tevinter,” Varric recalled. “He could do some scary things inside his mind when he was asleep.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, Telana had similar abilities. That’s what the spirit meant when she said Telana was trying to reach Ameridan in dreams. I’m not sure why she was here when Ameridan was somewhere else, but we’ll take what we’ve learned to Professor Kenric – maybe he’ll have an idea.”

They first had to fight off a contingent of Jaws of Hakkon, who had somehow learned of their expedition to the island and followed them. They didn’t dare approach while the spirit lingered, but as soon as the rift was fully dispatched following its departure, they attacked. Sunshine, much to everyone’s shock (not least her own), had come away from her encounter with the spirit with a new ability; using the Anchor, she could summon a sort of rift-like shield which would protect her and those closest to her from any projectiles. Arrows and spells alike bounced off of the shimmering air as if it were a shield. Since the Jaws of Hakkon had a number of archers among them, this was frustrating to them, especially since the barrier didn’t prevent Bethany or her companions from sending any projectiles _out_.

“Delightful,” Dorian commented, hitting a few of them with chain lightning. “I could get used to this.”

“Let’s hope we don’t _have_ to get used to it,” Varric retorted. “But it’s definitely useful.”

With the Hakkonites out of the way, they returned to the base camp, where Bethany lost little time in presenting Kenric with the document and artifacts which had been left with Telana’s bones. He peered at the document in astonishment, and Varric couldn’t blame him; it was nothing less than an imperial edict from Kordillus Drakon I, stating that Ameridan and his pals were on an official mission and were to be given any and all help they required on the way.

“They were trying to save Orlais from an Avvar dragon,” Bethany blurted. “The island holds Telana’s remains – that’s Ameridan’s lover, she was with Ameridan and she was trying to reach him in dreams.”

“Andraste’s dimples, I may have received tenure from that sentence alone!” Kenric exclaimed, studying the scroll. “Ameridan had a lover. Telana, you said? Oh, the Inquisitor’s lady mage! There was such debate over whether she existed! And there were orders – this was a _request_ from Drakon himself? This changes everything! Ameridan wasn’t a deserter, he was a patriot protecting Orlais while Drakon fought the Blight!”

“Oh, Telana definitely existed. We encountered a spirit who told us where Ameridan went next – metal spires, up the river.”

“Up the river? The scouts have had problems with Hakkonites up there.” Kenric frowned. “My assistant Colette might be able to give you some direction. She’s investigating some ruins in Swamp Kuldsdotten. If you can track her down, I imagine she can assist.”

So they trudged off to the swamp, though entirely against Varric’s inclination, and rescued Colette from her unexpected battle with a handful of gurns. At least, Varric thought they were gurns; most of the oversized lizardy things looked more or less the same to him. Colette, as it turned out, was an elf, and she spoke admiringly of Kenric’s willingness to share credit with her, unlike some of the more prejudiced university staff.

“I knew I liked that guy,” Bull remarked.

“Still finding it difficult to breathe,” she admitted, panting. “But I’m not strewn across the landscape, so thank you. I was hoping to conduct a survey of a Tevinter ruin in the hills. I may not have chosen the best route.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Varric mildly. “I’ve actually found a place I hate more than caves.”

“Is the ruin significant to Professor Kenric’s research?” Bethany inquired.

“The Tevinters’ time here was brief,” Colette explained, “but their architecture endured, offering shelter, forming landmarks. Ancient Avvar would have encountered these structures, which certainly predate Inquisitor Ameridan. Evaluating the ruins could offer insight into the region’s history, once I can get set up.”

“Then you intend to still go there?”

Colette nodded. “I’ve read everything we have on Ameridan, and studied up on new excavation techniques. I won’t waste this opportunity. If you’ve a map, I can show you my destination, if you’d be interested in the findings.”

“Oh, definitely,” Bethany replied, and Dorian nodded. “Between the hunt for Ameridan and Dorian’s interest in his people’s past, I think we’d find it fascinating.” She watched Colette make the changes to the map Harding had given them. “Be safe on the journey, won’t you? We’ll join you there in a few days’ time, once we take care of a few other details around here.”

With Colette safely on her way, the Inquisitor and her friends trudged back up to the top of the swamp’s resident waterfall. It was growing late in the day, and they were all getting tired. “I'm shocked I've never seen this plant before,” Dorian remarked, pausing to study some garish flower. “It's so melodramatic, half the magisterium should be growing it.”

“Hold that thought, Sparkler, we’ve got company!” Varric pointed at a rift not far from where they emerged from the swamp. Some of the scouts had left a marker nearby, suggesting that this was a good spot to establish a new camp, and he wondered if that was some kind of sick joke.

* * *

Varric was not prepared for the finale of Bethany’s birthday.

The demons spilling out of the rift were annoying as all get-out. Maybe it was the Basin air, maybe it was the Avvar spirit worship, who knew. All he could say for sure was that they were pissing him off more than usual. Between the evil walking trees and the screamy ones with the ice leashes, the Inquisitor and her friends were being put through their paces. The damn trees had a particular knack for diving into the ground and resurfacing wherever one of them happened to be standing, knocking them flat on their asses, and this was precisely the indignity Varric suffered. Bianca tumbled slightly to one side, and he grumbled as he sat up, pressing his palms to the ground in order to push himself to his feet.

He was distracted from this, however, by Sparkler taking down the demon in question, leaving him with a clear view of the rift itself. With the last of its vile offspring defeated, it could be sealed, and the Inquisitor stepped in front of him to do exactly that. Varric watched her, completely forgetting about moving… or much of anything else, for that matter.

Bethany was surrounded by a sweep of sparkling magic, the green of the rift and the Anchor mingling with the natural wispish purple of her own inherent powers. Her left arm was raised, her father’s staff clutched in her right hand, and there was something of - he didn’t know how else to describe it - a girlish twist to her hips and torso. Haloed by the dueling magics, her hair took on a glimmering sheen, like lamp oil spilled on the hearth of a fireplace. She clenched her hand, severing the bond between Anchor and rift, and the air shimmered briefly before calming. She half turned, brushing hair back from her face in a satisfied kind of gesture, before sheathing her staff with a sigh. A soft flush of exertion had crawled across her features, making it seem as though the distant hues of early sunset were mirrored on the ivory of her cheekbones.

Something inside of Varric twitched and flipped over.

When did _this_ happen? Sure, she’d always been Sunshine - one of the few truly bright things in his world, occasionally even the only one. But this was different. This was painful, in a strangely enjoyable way, and it echoed through his bloodstream. This was also a little hackneyed and cliché, if he were honest with himself, but he told the writer side of his brain to be quiet for a minute. He closed his mouth, which had apparently fallen open while he was staring, and tried to put it into words.

_Well. Shit._

Not the most eloquent description, but it covered the situation pretty well.

“Varric,” she said, as time resumed its normal pace and she turned to notice him still on the ground. “Are you all right?”

 _No, I am very much not all right._ “Fine,” he managed.

She chuckled a bit, and moved to offer him her slender hands, pulling him gently to his feet. His fingers had apparently forgotten how to work, because they didn’t let go of hers right away even once he was upright; for a long moment he was lost in some kind of strange haze, like something lingering in the air after one of Dorian’s lightning spells. Was it just him? Did she sense it too? Her eyes seemed to grow a little wider as she studied his battered face. Was the sudden comprehension written in his expression? Could she see it? If she could, did she know what it meant? For that matter, did _he_?

“Everybody okay? Let’s make camp,” the Iron Bull called, and the rough edge of his voice banished the strange sensation.


	31. A Gift From the Hand That Gave It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric contemplates his recent revelation, and Dorian exults about being right. Add Scout Grandin and some Fade-touched beasts to the mix and you have - well, this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original version of Hard in Hightown - that is, what's read in codex entries in the game or on the wiki - Lady Marielle does have topaz eyes. However, in the actual published hardcover version, her eyes are instead compared to aquamarines. For the sake of this fic, I'm going with the original description, since Bethany's eyes are definitely brown. ;)

Varric slept very little, at least as far as he could tell. It wasn’t as though he had dreams to help him figure out if he was awake or not. At some point he was summoned for a turn at watch, and he sat at the fire staring at the embers like they could possibly solve this riddle for him.

Not that there was much solving to be done, really. The more he thought about it, the more he understood it, even if he couldn’t put a precise name to the way the understanding made him feel. It was somewhere in between stunned, delighted, and terrified.

She’d always been there, in the back of his head, even when he didn’t realize it. Shit, Lady Marielle in _Hard in Hightown_ – dark hair and topaz eyes? Who else could she be? How many times had he likened Bethany’s eyes to topaz, or tourmaline, or some other jewel? (True, there were only so many brown gemstones; still, it was an analogy he’d employed more often with her than with anyone else he knew.) It was evident that she had been in his story the whole time, even if he hadn't noticed it sooner. He always said that his characters dictated their stories to him, and this time, they had told him something he had, quite unintentionally, ignored and overlooked until it got too big to be denied anymore.

Once he’d managed to collect his thoughts on the matter, acknowledge their justice, his first instinct was to panic. What would Hawke say?! This was, of course, immediately followed by the painful recollection that Hawke didn’t really have the option to say anything about it anymore. Bethany was as alone in the world as Varric himself was. It was as liberating as it was heartbreaking.

The only question remaining was this: what was he going to _do_ about it?

On his own side, no objections remained. There was no one who could protest – cousin Vidar wouldn’t, and he was the closest family member left. Bianca’s last letter, which now made so much more sense than it had when it first arrived, implied that she was under the impression that things were much more forward between himself and Bethany than they actually were, and was more or less okay with it. Or at least, she accepted it, and recognized that she had no grounds on which to object anyway.

The only possible disapproval Varric could see would be from Bethany herself. Would she find him acceptable in this capacity? Would she think he was too old, or too broken? Was it too late in his life to start something like this? Probably. On the other hand, that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try it anyway, provided that the lady was willing. At worst, it was a one-sided thing, and it would make things a little awkward between them for a couple of days.

As far as he knew, no one else had any sort of claim on her affections, but that didn’t mean that he himself did. (Well, he _did_ , of course, but that wasn’t necessarily the same thing as what he was now contemplating.) Granted, there might be someone else and she was keeping her feelings very quiet; however, he suspected that if there were, he’d have figured it out by now. He was – usually – good at picking up on such things, except when they involved him personally.

Mae had figured it out, he realized, thinking about the substance of her letters. Dorian almost certainly had, judging by some of his comments. Cassandra might have read just enough of the wrong sort of books to at least have gotten an idea of it. Josephine had made some coy implications, especially regarding his kill-steal at Erimond’s execution. Even Cullen, who was arguably one of the most oblivious people Varric had ever known when it came to certain matters, had given him the occasional knowing smirk.

_Shit. Am I the **last** one to know?_

Well, not quite. Bethany would probably be the last one to know, as soon as he figured out how to tell her.

That was a whole different problem on its own. He shook his head. He was overthinking everything – best to just leave it for now, let everything progress naturally at least until they got back to Skyhold. The whole Ameridan thing had to take priority, just like Corypheus had.

He only wished it didn’t feel so cowardly.

* * *

To be sure, the whole Frostback Basin adventure served as a nice distraction. Varric needed a distraction from inconvenient feelings.

He also needed the distraction from Dorian, who _somehow_ guessed that Varric was no longer oblivious to everything. “You have the look of a man who’s had an epiphany,” came the cheerful observation. “What fascinating ruminations were coming to you in the deep hours of the night? I thought your sort didn’t dream.”

“We don’t.”

“Well, then, you must have been positively riveted by something while you were awake.”

“And here I thought it took blood magic to read minds.” Varric paused, and in spite of himself, chuckled. “Huh. That brings back memories – I said that to Sunshine when we first met.”

They had left the camp at daybreak, following the Varsdottrn River (Varric had no idea how to pronounce that) in search of a shallow place to cross to the eastern bank. Once there, they established another camp just outside of a small cave, which Bethany – under Bull’s watchful eye – was exploring. Varric and Dorian were more or less standing guard outside, and the dwarf was getting slightly twitchy the longer they were gone.

“Yes, about your Sunshine. Why do I suspect that she had something to do with your intriguing realization?”

“Are you going someplace with this, Sparkler, or are you just amusing yourself until your walking playground comes back?”

Dorian looked like he was torn between wanting to be offended by the quip and wanting to laugh at it. He did neither, though his mustache quivered tellingly. “Only that I have a letter to write to Maevaris when we return to Skyhold. We’ve been debating for months how long it would take you to observe the situation. I believe I am owed a few royals and a bottle of port.”

“Don’t make it worse,” Varric grumbled.

“You’re not even going to pretend not to know what I mean? I have to admit I’m a little disappointed, I thought you might drag it out for at least a moment or two.”

“Even if I tried to deny it, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Well, there is that,” Dorian allowed. “Really, though, I’m astounded it took so long. I can only assume you have no real understanding of the sort of expressions which wander across your features when you watch her.” He shrugged. “So... what, pray tell, do you intend to do about it?”

Varric shrugged also. “At the moment? Nothing. We’ve sort of got other problems.”

“You say that as though it’s anything out of the ordinary.”

“Fair point, but you know what I mean. This isn’t exactly the right setting for things.”

“I’m tempted to say that you’re merely making excuses,” said Dorian wryly. “What _is_ the right setting for such things? I had too much to drink one night and it took a left turn from there. Cassandra plucked an elf out of the ranks of the scouts. Cullen spent weeks tripping over his own tongue before he finally broke protocol and started courting a subordinate.”

“Yeah, do you know anything about how that went down?” Varric practically lunged for the change of subject.

“Of the details of their actual romance, I have only a few. They met when he welcomed her group – you recall they reached Haven after the disaster, and the Chargers brought them to Skyhold.” Sparkler chuckled. “From what little I’ve overheard on the matter, it was largely a slog of shared gazes and a few wistful sighs from our commander, followed by a benign confrontation and a kiss on the battlements. It all sounds quite poetic from an outside perspective, if one enjoys that sort of thing.”

“I’m still trying to understand the details of how General Uptight was convinced to go against the rules.”

Dorian spread his hands. “As near as I can figure, when one technically _writes_ the rules, one has leeway to break them. He _is_ the highest-ranked soldier in the Inquisition, and he’s the one who dictates how those beneath him may behave. To the best of my knowledge there is nothing, strictly speaking, against fraternization in the ranks. Possibly that has something to do with the rules having been written while the world veered dangerously close to coming to an end, and such things therefore appearing unimportant by comparison, but I digress.”

“You could be onto something,” Varric acknowledged.

“But even if such things did exist among the rank-and-file,” Dorian continued, “they’d be no obstacle for the Inquisitor herself. She is above such reprimands, I imagine.”

“Patience, Sparkler. Give me time. Give _her_ time. She’s got enough on her plate as it is.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. But do try not to keep the lady waiting too long, yes? She deserves a bit of happiness, after all, and I suspect you’re in the best position to provide it.”

A little surprised, Varric considered that. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

* * *

The explorations of the Frostback Basin continued, with periodic excursions back to the base camp to confer with Professor Kenric or Scout Harding. Varric pitied Harding, who was somewhat beside herself when she begged them to go in search of a kid named Scout Grandin, who was missing from watch duty. “Grandin was a good friend of Jace Turbot – one of the researchers,” she explained. “He was killed by Hakkonites. I’m starting to worry that Grandin’s gone and done something stupid. He was supposed to send word back when he reached his station, but... nothing.”

“A young person doing something stupid out of grief? There’s a shocker,” muttered Varric. He was careful, however, not to let Bethany hear the comment.

Harding gave the Inquisitor an indication of where Grandin was supposed to have gone, and moving to the western riverbank, it wasn’t hard to trace his path – because it was littered with Hakkonite corpses. “Unless I’m wildly mistaken,” said Dorian, “Harding’s friend has gone on what some might term a roaring rampage of revenge.”

“Yeah, but one guy doing all of _this_?” Bull replied in disbelief. “That doesn’t seem possible.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Bethany grimly. “And that makes me very worried about just what’s happened to Scout Grandin.”

“What are you thinking, Sunshine?” Varric asked.

“Nothing good. Let’s hope I’m wrong,” came the reply. In a lower voice intended just for his ears, she added, “These corpses remind me entirely too much of what we saw at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but yeah. Me too.”

The trail led them to a place which Harding’s map identified as the Ancient Culvert; Varric was more impressed than he had expected to be with the ancient Tevinters’ plumbing technology. He was distracted from it, however, by all the dead figures decorating the place, and made a note to ask Dorian for specifics later. How useful it was likely to be in a future novel, he couldn’t tell, but he had long since learned that ideas could be found in the most unlikely places.

Scout Grandin, as it turned out, was an elf, lean and hale, with yellow hair of a darker shade than Sera’s. He was crouched on the floor when they entered the crumbling Tevinter relic, but stood when Bethany approached and greeted her respectfully. “Inquisitor. I've abandoned my post, haven't I? I had cause... just missing the permission part.”

“Harding is worried about you,” she said gently. “She told us about your friend Jace.”

Immediately, the scout’s face clouded. “He was studying at the university,” he explained. “Those Hakkon bastards! Jace wasn't a soldier, he wasn't even armed! After this he was going to show me Val Royeaux. I've never been. I thought we might... I can't let this happen.”

Something wasn’t quite right, Varric realized, watching Grandin talk. There was something in his face, something in his voice, which felt off. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it was more than mere grief.

“I’m so sorry,” said Bethany. “Losing someone you care for, especially in a situation like this, is so hard.”

“I wasn't a soldier either, not before this. I lived in the Circle - like they say you did once.” Varric frowned at the slight echo he was starting to hear in the words. Was it the walls of the culvert causing that? “But I never had the skill for combat spells, so I picked up a sword,” Grandin continued. “I wanted to fight for the Inquisition. The Jaws of Hakkon almost ended that, too.”

“What happened?” asked Dorian. His tone was tense; he was picking up on the same things Varric was, and maybe more besides. The echo was intensifying.

“I was bleeding out when it saw me. It knows what I know.” Oh, _that_ was what was causing the echo, and the strange reddish cast in the kid’s eyes. He was possessed. “They will not kill more people! Not like Jace! I will protect them, Inquisitor!”

“This is bad,” Varric muttered.

“It wants to help,” said Cole.

“Demons don’t help, Kid. Not the way you think they would.”

Bethany shook her head. “No, Grandin. Not like this.”

“If you stop me, then I cannot stop them!” Grandin’s voice was all but lost to the guttural growling of the demon within him. “I won’t allow it!”

“And there it is,” said Bull with a sigh, as Grandin’s entire body was subsumed by the emergence of a rage demon. “Demon assholes everywhere we go.”

“Well, it certainly explains what happened to the Hakkonites,” said Dorian, even as he got to work.

It took several minutes of ice spells, crossbow bolts, and other assorted attacks; but finally, nothing was left of the rage demon – or Scout Grandin – but ash. Varric sighed. “Better than leaving him as an abomination,” he said. “But what do we tell Harding?”

“The truth – sort of,” Bethany replied. “Grandin was brave and loyal, and he was killed by Hakkonites while trying to avenge his friend. I’ll take care of it.”

“She will hurt,” said Cole. “But she would hurt more if she knew about the demon. Yes.”

* * *

As they continued their adventures through the Basin, Bethany and company were keeping an eye out for the three Fade-touched beasts needed for Caldan Enversen’s “sky burial” back in Stone-Bear Hold. Subduing them wasn’t easy – being affected by the Fade had left them somewhat maddened – and to an extent Varric sort of pitied them. The lurker in particular almost seemed to be begging to be put down, and he left the task of harvesting its pelt to Bull, who didn’t seem to mind.

Of course, when the giant spider scuttled into a cave and gathered reinforcements who (at least from his perspective) seemed to be focusing their efforts on killing Varric’s Inquisitor, he had considerably less pity.

“That’s the last of them,” she sighed finally, wiping muck from her father’s staff with a look of annoyance. “I think there’s enough daylight left for us to get back to Stone-Bear in safety.” It was the day after Scout Grandin’s death, and Varric suspected she was still a bit rattled by that entire experience. There but for the grace of the Maker might have gone she, after all.

“Three Fade-touched pelts, as requested,” said Dorian. “The question is, what will you do with them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were given the option of presenting it yourself as a gift to the hold, or of allowing the son of the departed to do it.” Finn Caldanson had been severely injured in his own attempts to hunt the beasts for the ritual, and when they met him, he hadn’t even been able to stand. Now he was in danger of being stripped of the right to call himself his father’s son. Varric wasn’t sure about the complexities of Avvar law, but he suspected that Finn losing his name might very well mean also losing everything he would normally have inherited from his father too.

“The huntmaster said he'd accept a gift from the hand that gave it,” he reminded her. “Let Finn do it.”

Dorian frowned. “Bending the rules further than what’s already allowed?” he asked, hesitant. “Not to sound unkind, but we don’t want to upset the hold, do we?”

Cole, however, shook his head. “The hold is a place, but also the people in it. Like Finn,” he said. “If he gave the offering, he will hurt, but less.”

“No one said a gift to the hold had to include everyone. Could be a gift for someone’s son,” said Bull. Dorian, seeing that he was clearly outvoted, merely raised his hands in a gesture of submission.

So off they went to Stone-Bear, where the sun was getting close to the water’s edge in the distance, and they watched as Bethany spoke gently to the invalid and gave him the pelts. He seemed baffled, half sitting and half lying in his bedroll. “But... the huntmaster...”

“The huntmaster said he would accept a gift from the hand that gave it,” she replied. “And I want that hand to be yours. I know the pain you’re feeling, and it will never really go away, but you shouldn’t have to lose more than you’ve already lost.”

Finn stared up at her like she was the sun, too blinding and brilliant to be real. Varric could relate. “I don’t know what to say,” he stammered.

“Say the words he would want,” Cole suggested. “‘Fly to the Lady in peace, and come back soon.’ He will understand.”


	32. How Do Fish Even Get Into the Mountains? Do They Climb?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you seen a bear around here anywhere?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter IS titled after some of Varric's JoH dialogue, believe it or not...

They spent the night in the hold, where guest welcome gave them respite in the form of a currently unused hut. It was actually the one which had been home to Finn and his father; but since Finn was recovering in the huntmaster’s house, it was available to the Inquisitor and her small entourage.

Thane Sun-Hair took the news of the matter in stride, commending them for their “kindness to an invalid” despite their relative unfamiliarity with the Avvar custom. She was very troubled, however, since Storvacker – the hold’s bear – was still missing and, as Bethany told her, the Inquisition had seen no sign of the beast. She urged Bethany to speak to other hold members and ask if they had any ideas, adding that Stone-Bear would continue to be unable to help the Inquisition with the Jaws of Hakkon so long as Storvacker remained missing.

“You boys get settled,” Bethany said as they left the Thane’s audience chamber. “I’ll go speak to a few people and then come back to sleep. I’m safe enough here in the hold,” she added, seeing what Varric supposed must have been a wary expression on his face. “I won’t be long.”

“So why won’t they help us until the bear comes back?” Bull asked, as they began laying out bedrolls around the hut’s central fire. Dorian was attempting to make something edible out of their field rations.

“As best as I can understand it,” said Varric, “she thinks these Hakkonites have something to do with the bear disappearing. They have a peace treaty with the Hakkonites, so they can’t do anything overt without breaking that, and then they look bad to the rest of the Avvar. But if they really did take the bear, then that’s a whole different story. That means the Hakkonites broke the treaty first, so Stone-Bear can retaliate without anyone thinking they’re jerks.”

“A simplified description,” Dorian noted, “but more or less accurate from what we’ve been told.”

“Hey, Kid,” Varric said suddenly, “I don’t suppose you can sense anything about where the bear might be, can you?”

Cole paused, thoughtful. “She is afraid,” he said. “Walls, close and closing, bound in blackness. Her thoughts are not words, they are harder to hear. But she is afraid.”

“Wait. Walls?” Dorian repeated.

“Walls. Old stone, echoes of memories long forgotten.”

“Lots of old Tevinter buildings around here,” said Bull. “Maybe they’ve got her in one of them.”

The door opened then, and Bethany joined them, shrugging off her heavy coat with a sigh. “Everything I’ve been able to learn from anyone in the hold suggests that Storvacker sometimes hunts for meals in Swamp Kuldsdotten,” she reported. “I suppose that means we’re going to have to search down there.”

“Cole says she’s someplace with walls,” Bull reported. “You think there’s a ruin of some kind in the swamp?”

“I don’t see why not. They seem to be everywhere else.” She sat down by the fire and warmed her hands. “We’ll start fresh in the morning. I don’t think anyone needs to keep watch, so we can all get a full night’s sleep.”

* * *

Varric hoped, by the time all was said and done the next day, that his notes would be intelligible to himself when he was in a better position to write about the events.

He officially hated Swamp Kuldsdotten even more than caves. It was better than the Deep Roads, but not by much. It was creepy enough by itself, and then the little magic altars or whatever they were just made it creepier. They were pyramid shaped, suspended from trees and other places up high, and each one had candles and a skull and it was just exceptionally unpleasant. “I’ll ask the augur about it when we go back to Stone-Bear,” said Bethany, “but I am certainly _not_ taking the bones with us. Putting out the candles should be enough to disrupt… whatever it is they’re doing.”

“Just be careful walking on those moss-covered trunks,” said Dorian, sounding somewhat disgruntled, as they watched her clamber down from her lofty perch. “I do _not_ want to be the one to have to explain to your war council that you survived a Titan and Corypheus and everything else only to fall to your death from a _tree_.” With a smirk, he added, “Though I at least would be spared the necessity of informing Varric. That would be considerably more difficult.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Varric complained.

“Yes, so you are. That was my point.”

“We’ve got other things to think about,” Bull interrupted. He was squinting north with his lone eye. “Look at the side of the mountain. Somebody dug into it and made some kind of a building at the base.”

He was right, and the design was as clearly Tevinter as the rest of the ruins they’d encountered. Warily they began moving in that direction, letting their vision adjust to the increasing gloom – or maybe that was Varric’s imagination, he wasn’t sure. But it was not his imagination that there were traces of struggle in the undergrowth, as though someone had, well, fought with a large animal. Like a bear.

Exactly like a bear, in fact. Exactly like the bear behind bars inside the Tevinter prison, the one guarded by what had to be some of the biggest Hakkonites they’d seen yet. Said Hakkonites were not best pleased that the Inquisitor had come to pay a social call, either, which wasn’t much of a surprise but still made things very difficult. “I suppose asking them nicely to return the bear that isn’t theirs isn’t going to work,” Bethany mused.

“I don’t think they’re quite that civilized,” Dorian replied, already charging his staff for chain lightning. “Or, you know, _at all_ civilized.”

Varric couldn’t argue for or against the potential civilization of the Jaws of Hakkon; however, he could definitely confirm that they were uncomfortably well organized. The corridor leading into the depths of the prison had been hollowed out of the cliffside, giving it a cavelike feel and appearance, and it was here that the bulk of the skirmish took place. The lumpy pointy bits of stone gave them some means of dodging the attacks, while at the same time providing a choking sensation of being trapped, and the arrival of a second group of Hakkonites added to the feeling. They couldn’t go forward to where Storvacker was imprisoned, and they couldn’t retreat to the alleged fresh air of the swamp, until their foes were all dispatched.

“Back to back, Sunshine,” he called, edging his way to where she stood pelting the enemy with force magic.

“Get close to me!” she shouted at the others. Her left hand was glowing green and somewhat vibrating, powering up; with an unsettling cry, she reached above her head and activated her Aegis of the Rift. (That was the fancy name Dorian had devised for the barrier she’d learned from the spirit who had guarded Telana’s body. Varric didn’t know why it needed a name, as long as it worked, but if Bethany liked it then fine.) Safe within the confines of the magic shield, Bethany, Varric, and Dorian could fire projectile spells and bolts at the attackers while suffering little injury from whatever was being returned. With Bull swinging his massive maul at the Hakkonites blocking the exit, and Cole dashing between those in the prison with his daggers, the whole battle soon came to a very messy end.

A lever on the wall opened the bars of Storvacker’s prison. She lumbered forward, making bearish grunts and growls. “She’s not going to attack, right?” Varric asked warily.

“No.” Cole shook his head. “She’s saying thank you. She will make her own way back to the hold, but we should tell the Thane that she is safe.”

“Hm. ‘Thank you’ in bear speech sounds an awful lot like everything else they say.” Bull shrugged, sheathing his maul. “But you’re the expert here, kid. Let’s head back to Sun-Hair’s place.”

* * *

“Goat-kissing blood-drinking Hakkonite chicken craps!” Thane Sun-Hair sputtered by way of a greeting when they arrived. It took a heroic effort on Varric’s part not to snicker; he was going to have to remember that one. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” she continued, more calmly. “Storvacker has returned, and my hunters saw what you and she did to the Hakkonites who held her. In trapping Storvacker, the Jaws of Hakkon broke their peace oath with Stone-Bear Hold. Our blades are yours.”

“I’m very grateful. We can certainly use your help,” said Bethany.

“More than you know.” Thane Sun-Hair’s smile was grim. “My hunters brought items back from where they held Storvacker. I know what they intended; it is not something you will like.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down very much,” said Dorian, lightly.

“Five royals says it’s blood magic,” Varric told him.

“I’m not taking that bet.”

“This is something few Avvar would tell lowlanders, but you must hear it.” The Thane shook her head. “The Jaws of Hakkon sought to bind their god in mortal form and bring war to the lowlands.”

“Mm, that’s close enough to blood magic that you would have won the bet, Varric,” said Dorian.

Bethany, meanwhile, gave a small groan. “They wanted to send a god to destroy us? I've just finished defeating the _last_ god who wanted to destroy us! Maker’s breath, I need a nap before I take on another one.”

Thane Sun-Hair actually chuckled. “You are right to worry. This battle is not yet won. Though you have given them pause, they will try again.” She sighed. “Ages ago, the old Jaws of Hakkon did the same. They brought their god to life to destroy the lowlands. Their foolishness lost Hakkon to all Avvar. Now they would free him and begin again.”

“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” It was Bull who made the observation; Varric nodded at him.

“Very well.” Bethany flexed the fingers of her left hand, as though the mark was bothering her again. “What do we have to do to stop them entirely?”

“Their hold is an old lowlander fortress,” Thane Sun-Hair explained. “It is shielded by a great wall of ice, magic even the Hakkonites do not know. Unravel its magic, and we will scatter their bones so the Lady never finds them.”

“Oh, sure. Piece of cake,” Bull grumbled quietly.

“All right, we need a way to melt a wall of magical ice around their fortress.” Bethany looked thoughtful. “Any ideas?”

“No.” Another shake of the Thane’s head. Varric wondered, irrelevantly, what color hair was hidden beneath the snug hood of her coat. “It is lowlander magic and nothing to do with us. Our spirit-talkers are useless as battle goes. The Hakkonites must have found the magic in the old fortress. Speak to your people - perhaps they will know more.”

“All right. We'll be back once we figure this out. Thank you, Thane Sun-Hair.” Bethany offered a troubled smile.

“Walk with the Lady's blessing,” their friend replied with a nod.

* * *

By the time they reached the main camp, the hour was growing late – they had risked traveling in the growing twilight, wanting to have the walls of the Inquisition camp around them rather than pitch tents on the uneven ground. Varric in particular was grateful for that. “Professor Kenric’s already turned in for the night,” one of the scouts on watch reported. “He’s an early riser, likes to be up with the sun – if he’s not up late reading, he turns in not long after dinner. There’s rations by the main fire, if Your Worship is hungry.”

Bethany looked faintly startled, as though she had forgotten that ‘Your Worship’ meant her. She wasn’t fond of the address, but she had more or less gotten used to answering to it. “Oh. Yes. Thank you, I – I appreciate that. Good work.”

“Come on, Sunshine, you’ve barely said two words the whole way back,” said Varric, taking her arm lightly to steer her toward the fire. She allowed him to direct her onto a bench and, while she took off the heaviest bits of her armor, he turned his attention to getting her some food. She still seemed a little dazed, or maybe just contemplative. Cole, having no need to either rest or eat, had wandered away to study the thoughts of assorted Inquisition personnel throughout the camp, and ease whatever troubles he managed to find. Well, everyone needed a hobby.

“Yeah, Boss, what’s on your mind?” asked Bull, settling down on another bench and ignoring the way it groaned in protest under his weight. “You have that look that Varric sometimes wears when he’s puzzling out one of his plot points.”

“I’m just… I’m going over everything we know, and…” Bethany shook her head. “I feel like I’m missing something. There is something here that I’m just not seeing.”

“Like what?” asked Dorian.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know what I’m missing, I only know that I _am_ missing something. It’s like I’m trying to remember something I read in a book a long time ago, or something I was told when I was a child – it’s very faint, but it’s there, and I can’t seem to make it come any clearer.”

“Maybe you need to sleep. And you definitely need to eat,” Varric added, pushing a wooden bowl into her hands. “Come on, it’ll help you think.”

Obediently, if distractedly, she started to spoon the food into her mouth. Varric could tell that she was still thinking, and as he sat down beside her with his own dinner, he glanced at Dorian. “Let’s see if we can’t all figure this thing out.”

“Very well.” Sparkler nodded. “Give us a starting point, my dear Inquisitor, and let’s review the facts.”

“Well, Thane Sun-Hair said the Hakkonites want to bind Hakkon Wintersbreath into a mortal body,” she said slowly, “and that’s why they took the bear.”

“Why that bear specifically?” asked Bull. “Could that be significant?”

“I just assumed that it was because she’s kind of docile,” said Varric. “I mean, you saw her yourself. Normally a bear would have been trying to rip us all to shreds, but she was smart enough to know who was friend and who was enemy. Maybe they figured she’d be easier to wrangle than she actually was.”

“The good Thane also told us that the original Jaws of Hakkon tried to do something similar a long time ago,” said Dorian. “What did she mean, when she said that it caused all of the Avvar to lose Hakkon?”

“Avvar worship spirits, right?” Bull threw another stick into the fire. “Damn demons or whatever. But the spirits seem to interact with them on a not so dangerous level, so maybe she meant that Hakkon stopped talking to them.”

“Can you blame him?” Varric retorted. “If somebody tried to stuff me into a body that wasn’t mine, and then send me to make war on somebody, I don’t think I’d be in a hurry to talk to them either.”

“Wonder how they expected that to work,” Bull added. “I mean, even a spirit-possessed bear is only going to do so much damage before Templars or somebody get to it. How much of the lowlands were they planning on attacking? A couple villages?”

“Yes, it doesn’t sound as though this plan was given a tremendous amount of thought,” Dorian agreed. “Especially if it was known that the bear – or whatever they end up choosing for Hakkon’s host – was sent by the Avvar, it could easily end with an Exalted March against the Avvar. These Hakkonites could cause the Chantry to wipe out every single one of these holds, not just their own.” He chuckled. “They might not even need to go that far. I’m sure they could just ask our sweet girl here” – he gestured to Bethany – “for a little favor and she could take care of it single-handedly.”

Sunshine smiled vaguely in reply, but abruptly, her topaz eyes widened; Varric could see the firelight reflected in their depths. “Single-handedly… the Inquisitor deal with it single-handedly… oh, Maker! _That’s it!_ ”

“What’s it?!”

“Listen to me.” She set aside her bowl and addressed them all very seriously. “We know that the Hakkonites tried to bind Hakkon a long time ago. We don’t know _how_ long, but long. And Hakkon has been lost to the Avvar ever since.”

“Right,” said Varric, slowly.

“We _also_ know, from that scroll we found with Telana’s body, that Ameridan was here in the Basin because of a dragon that the Avvar sent to attack the lowlands.” She gesticulated a bit wildly. “Don’t you see? Hakkon has been lost because they _succeeded_ – they bound Hakkon into that dragon!”

“Maker’s tears.” Dorian stared at her. “That – that makes too much sense to not at least be possible. But what became of the dragon?”

“I don’t know. Nothing in any recorded history I’ve ever read mentioned a dragon sent by the Avvar, so it must have been forgotten by time. Sort of like Ameridan himself, in a way. But if they disappeared at the same time, that stands to reason.” She got up and paced a little. “Remember what the spirit told us on the island? Metal spires, up the river, a way to stop the dragon.”

“Andraste’s ass.” Varric was suddenly on the same page. “Are you thinking that the metal spires and that wall of magical ice might be connected?”

“It would seem so. Thane Sun-Hair specifically called it lowlander magic, which the Hakkonites don’t know – but Telana was a mage. Maybe _she_ created the ice wall!” Bethany’s excitement was a little amusing to the dwarf.

“And if she created it,” said Bull, “then following those metal spires might be the key to undoing it. But we still haven’t found them.”

“I think tomorrow we should go find Colette,” Dorian suggested. “You did promise to rendezvous with her at that Nigel’s Point place. There might be clues.”

“Okay, hold on,” said Varric. “Let’s say this is all true. Let’s say that Telana did create the ice wall over the old fortress. We need to ask ourselves… why would she do that? Is the ice meant to keep people out? Or is it keeping something else _in_?”

“You think the dragon is in there?” Now it was Bull’s turn to look excited. “We melt the ice and we get to fight the dragon?”

“It may be that the final truth about Ameridan is in there too,” said Dorian. “Maybe if we get past the ice, we’ll finally know what happened to him. That will certainly make Kenric happy.”

Bethany nodded. “And I think you’re right – we should meet with Colette. It’s not too far from here, if the map is accurate, and as you say there might be clues. We need to find whatever it is that Ameridan and Telana did to trap the dragon.”

“I’m wondering if this isn’t the real reason the Hakkonites have fought back so hard against Inquisition presence in the Basin,” Dorian added. “If they know that we’re looking for the history of Inquisitor Ameridan, and the answers are within their fortress, then it stands to reason that they would do everything in their power to keep us out.”

“I do so hate to disappoint people,” Bethany said dryly.

“What are you going to do?” Varric watched her face carefully, trying to detect signs of distress. For now, at least, he registered none. “Once we get the ice wall down, I mean.”

“Well, I’m the Inquisitor,” she replied with a sigh, “so I’m going to do whatever it takes to solve this mystery.” Then she smiled faintly. “But I’m also a Hawke, so that means I’m probably going to do something reckless and ridiculous.”

“There’s my Sunshine.” He chuckled. “I’m right behind you.”


	33. Still Not Quite Getting It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting up with Colette at Nigel's Point, Bethany and company set off on Ameridan's trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Cole's JoH attempt at a knock-knock joke. I used so much of my own dialogue in these chapters, I forgot to find appropriate quotes of Varric's to include for titles... or to put titles on them, for that matter. Sorry about that.

By the following evening, Bethany had done nothing which could be regarded as either reckless or ridiculous – but, Varric reasoned, there was still plenty of time.

They had staked out a location for a new camp, one of the fancy treehouse sorts which Scout Harding found so unnerving. He had almost forgotten that Freckles was afraid of heights. It would take a little time for the Inquisition engineers to finish constructing the whole thing, but they had the first few platforms read in the space of the afternoon, and Her Sunny Worship led her small entourage up the winding ramp to the top. They were situated on the far side of the river from the base camp, not far from the spot where they were to meet with Colette, and using the camp-in-progress to climb the steep hill was a huge improvement over trudging up a weather-beaten rocky trail.

While a few of the scouts moved into the partially completed camp and began working on preparing dinner, Bethany and her friends made their way to a spot called Nigel’s Point, where they were to rendezvous with Colette. Like many of the other landmarks in the vicinity, it was a Tevinter ruin, crumbling and decorated in assorted pokey pointy bits; a statue of a dragon in one out of the way corner suggested that it was a shrine or something for one of the old gods.

“Razikale,” Dorian informed them. “The Dragon of Mystery, one of the two remaining gods who have not yet been felled in a Blight.” He studied the carving. “The writing here suggests that this was some sort of stronghold for her followers. _To She Who Winds the Skein of Wisdom, we dedicate this citadel. Dragon of Mystery, bestow upon your faithful servants your ineffable truth. Grant us eyes to pierce the darkness and souls to bear the wounds of your labyrinth._ Well, my people are nothing if not dramatic.”

Varric chuckled. “No argument here, Sparkler.”

Colette was on the level below the dragon figure, where a statue of two figures in a lovers’ embrace was draped in creeping vines. “I’ve seen that statue before,” Bethany remarked as they descended the ancient stairs. “It’s supposed to be the Maker and Andraste. Why do you suppose it would be in a place like this?”

“Inquisitor,” Colette called in greeting, seeing them approach. “You may want to see this. I was going to send word – I’ve found something.” She was almost breathless with excitement.

“I can see that,” Bethany replied with a smile. “But what _is_ it?”

“This inscription - almost completely faded, but look. ‘Two stood. Felled sixty true before our triumph. A breath in the hunt and let rest the lowlanders, worthy of the Lady’s care.’”

They all paused to sort of let the words sink into their minds. “It’s a grave,” said Dorian, puzzled. “It sounds as though the Avvar buried – whom?”

“And why?” added Bull. “I thought they did those sky burial things.”

“The markings and surrounding artifacts date to Ameridan’s time,” said Colette. “But the references and script suggest Avvar, as you say.”

“What are you thinking, Colette?” asked Bethany.

“I need to complete a full survey and have Professor Kenric evaluate the site himself,” said the elf, and now she was practically vibrating, “but this _may_ be a tribute to Haron and Orinna, Inquisitor Ameridan’s companions.”

“The good professor told me a little about them,” said Sunshine. “Haron was one of the first Templars, and Orinna was a dwarf, is that right?”

“Yes, Your Worship.” Colette nodded, gesturing a bit with her sword as she spoke. “Orinna was an alchemist in Orzammar. It’s said she met Ameridan while dealing with a demon, but it’s not known _why_ Ameridan was there. Demons aren’t common in the Deep Roads, but they were a problem for the Inquisition at the time. Orinna knew she could help so she joined Ameridan.”

“She came to the surface?” Varric chuckled. “Not that I’m criticizing, but it’s not every day that dwarves leave Orzammar to help humans.”

“Yes, she ‘turned her back on the stone,’ though it’s said she had few regrets. Some claim she was actually from one of Orzammar’s noble families, but who can say? She never used her last name on the surface, and once she was exiled, the family likely struck her name from personal documents.”

“In other words, the Shaperate hasn’t changed all that much in a thousand years.” Seeing Bethany’s wry smile, Varric shrugged lightly. “We knew that. Sorry, please continue.”

“Speaking of the Shaperate,” said Colette, “Professor Kenric petitioned Orzammar’s Shaperate to grant him access to their records, but the request was turned down.”

It was Dorian’s turn to chuckle. “Perhaps if the Inquisitor herself sends them a friendly little note, they’ll change their tune.”

“I can try,” Bethany promised. “What about Haron?”

“As you yourself said, Your Worship, Ser Haron was one of the first members of the Templar Order. He’s arguably the most famous of the original Templars, though he was never one of their leaders. He’s better known as one of Inquisitor Ameridan’s confidants. They’d known each other since youth - when Ameridan was made Inquisitor, Haron’s position in his inner circle was assumed.”

To Varric’s profound amusement and only slight consternation, Bull, Dorian, and Bethany herself all turned to look at him for a moment. “Well, they do say history tends to repeat itself,” Dorian remarked, mustache quivering.

Colette looked mildly confused, so Sunshine – being Sunshine – translated for her. “I knew Varric for many years before all this happened. You might say he’s the Haron of my inner circle.”

“Oh, I see. Well, you know, a few ballads about them survive,” said the research assistant. “Ameridan and Haron, I mean. They’re the type with adventures and happy endings. I don't know if they're true. They remind me of my brothers, though.”

“I know the feeling.” Bethany’s voice was only a little sad. “Well, what happened in this place, then?”

“Ameridan and his companions fought the original Jaws of Hakkon. They were outnumbered, but Ameridan had a sworn duty. Could Ameridan and Telana have been skilled enough to slip past the Jaws of Hakkon?”

“An Inquisitor and a mage against who knows how many seasoned Avvar warriors?” Bull grunted. “Unlikely.”

“Exactly. But what if someone stayed behind to buy them time?” Colette gestured to the statue. “If my theory is correct, Haron and Orinna sacrificed themselves in battle against the Avvar while Ameridan and Telana continued toward the mission’s goal.”

 “You’re right, that does make sense,” Bethany agreed. “But what makes you think that the inscription refers specifically to those two?”

“Well, as I said, the markings and artifacts do match the timeline we’ve established for Ameridan,” said Colette. “We know that Ameridan and his companions came into violent contact with the Avvar. But more telling is the _nature_ of some of the artifacts. I've found glass fragments in the clay, several with slight veins of discoloration. Blue, like Templar artifacts.”

“Lyrium bottles,” said Dorian, nodding. “If your suppositions are accurate, Haron would have been drinking lyrium to bolster his abilities in battle, and likely dropping the glass vessels on the ground. You make a compelling argument.”

“Thank you, messere. The Templars were a new order in Ameridan's time,” Colette added. “Given their small numbers then, few would be found outside the Chantry's reach. It's unlikely to find one deep in uncharted territory, unless he traveled here for a purpose – as Haron would have.”

“It says something about those Avvar that they troubled themselves to mark the resting place,” Varric commented.

“Respect for a worthy adversary? It wouldn't be out of place,” said Colette.

“Well, it seems to me you’ve done some fine work,” Bethany told her, and she seemed to glow a bit from the praise. “What will you do now?”

“Professor Kenric will expect detailed notes on the location, stone and clay samples, and any trace artifacts I can find. If Ameridan's history is compiled, this could be worth an entire chapter.” Colette suddenly gasped. “I might get credit on the inside cover!”

“I’m sure he’ll see to it. We need to get back to our camp,” said Bethany, “but if you like I can send some of our scouts to assist you, or to at least make sure that you’re undisturbed while you work.”

“Thank you, Your Worship, I appreciate that,” said Colette. “If the current Jaws of Hakkon are about, they might not like what I’m doing, and I’m not in a hurry to join Haron and Orinna here.”

* * *

Bethany really didn’t like the idea of Colette being left alone while they returned to camp, and after some discussion of the matter, it was agreed that Cole would remain to keep watch over her. After all, with his unusual abilities, he could instantly return to the Inquisitor’s side to ask for help if there was a problem he couldn’t handle. He accepted the assignment readily enough. “Watching, waiting, keeping you from worry. It will help. I can help.”

“Thank you, Cole.”

“Cole and Colette. It sounds like a performance duo,” Dorian joked.

With Sunshine’s mind eased on this matter, the rest of the group made their way back to the treehouse-in-progress, where the engineers were still making heroic efforts to use the last hours of fading daylight to continue their work. A heavy black cauldron sat on the fire, with a stew bubbling inside it. Bull sniffed the air. “That smells almost like food,” he quipped.

“Fresh supplies arrived at the main camp from Skyhold,” said one of the scouts, coming to stir the mass and start ladling it into bowls for them. “Scout Harding directed a portion of it to be sent to each of the outreach posts.”

“Three cheers for Scout Harding, then,” said Dorian, accepting his bowl. “Well, my dear Lady Inquisitor, what shall be our next move? This is all quite riveting, you know, but if we could perhaps not go back into the swamp any time soon, that would be preferable.” Sitting down on one of the benches which had been constructed, he gestured to his feet. “These boots were _not_ made for such things.”

Sunshine laughed. “No, I don’t imagine we’ll be returning to the swamp. I can’t think of any reason why we would, unless the augur at Stone-Bear thinks it necessary to deal with those strange altars we found. But since we neutralized them, I don’t expect it to be an issue.” She rearranged the contents of her bowl with the wooden spoon. “No, I think we need to look into what Telana’s spirit friend told us about the metal spires up the river. I can’t fathom what that might mean.”

Varric removed Bianca from her resting place and settled her gently against the railing, gazing out at the Frostbacks. From their current vantage, he could almost appreciate how objectively lovely the area really was. Sure, it had way more dirt and rocks than he liked, and the tree roots were very clearly out to get them every time they walked, and the wildlife was overly hungry. But the flowers were vividly colorful, and the trees were very green.

With the others still planning behind him, he walked along the wooden platform, lost in thought. The thick cover overhead didn’t allow for much sunlight to penetrate, but as the sun went down, golden shafts broke through from the west. His gaze followed them east toward the river.

Something was shining in the distance.

Varric frowned, and turned back to the others. “Hey, Scoutquisition,” he called, “anybody here have a spyglass?”

This was answered with a few mild chuckles at the nickname, some rustling and scurrying, and a moment later one of the scouts presented him with the requested instrument. As he put it to his eye to study the fading gleam, Bethany came to stand beside him. “What is it, Varric?”

“Sunshine, I think I found your spires – or one of them, anyway.” He passed the spyglass to her. “Stand here, and look in exactly that direction. Hurry before the light’s gone.”

“Oh – oh, Maker, I think you’re right!”

“Well, don’t leave us all in suspense,” said Dorian. “What is it?”

“I don’t quite know. It looks almost like a knife stabbing upward,” she remarked. “The top portion of the thing looks like a blade.”

“Sounds appropriately melodramatic. It must be Tevinter.”

“Most of the stuff around here is,” said Bull, joining them. “Varric found our metal spires, then?”

“Looks that way, Tiny. Well, madam, how do you wish to proceed?”

Bethany looked thoughtful. “Have we established any camps on the western side of the river?” she asked the scout who had provided the spyglass.

“Just one, Your Worship,” he replied. “Not far from the Ancient Culvert, where you found the remains of our poor friend Grandin.” Oh, right, that was the popular story among the scouts – that they’d found Grandin dead and given him a funeral pyre. Well, it wasn’t _entirely_ untrue.

“All right. We’ll get a good night’s sleep,” she said, “and start for that camp first thing tomorrow. From there we can probably get a clearer view of the spires and follow them.”

* * *

She wasn’t wrong, Varric reflected the next day, to say that the spires looked like blades stabbing upward. What purpose such a design might have had, he couldn’t work out, but they definitely functioned as guideposts on the trail. Accompanied by a handful of scouts and soldiers, Bethany and her companions trudged up an obnoxiously steep and uneven hill.

This led them into a sort of courtyard, for lack of a better description, which was horrifically overgrown with some of the largest tree roots Varric had ever had the displeasure of introducing to his boots. Eventually the path emerged from this area into something thankfully less claustrophobic; it even had street lamps, of a sort, in the form of torches on tall poles lighting their way in the vague gloom. Ahead of them loomed a much larger Tevinter structure than any they had yet found, complete with a surprisingly complex and rather effective-looking sewer system.

“Sparkler? Any idea what this place is, or was?”

“I’m seeing multiple references to Razikale, much as we did yesterday at Nigel’s Point,” Dorian replied. “For some reason, they chose to worship her out here – almost exclusively, to judge by the fact that I’ve seen nothing for any of the other old gods. I wonder what would prompt her cult to take up residence in this place.”

“Wait. Her?”

“Bit of a shock, isn’t it? But yes. Razikale is generally considered to have been female.”

“If they came all the way out here,” said Bull, “maybe she should have been the Dragon of Leave Me Alone.”

“Honestly, there are days when the worship of such a thing doesn’t sound half bad,” Dorian admitted with a laugh. “No offense to any of you, of course.”

“None taken.” Varric couldn’t help being amused.

A peculiar sort of tower sat opposite the ancient temple, but they didn’t have much time to devote to figuring out its purpose. “Looks like they knew we were coming,” Bull snarled, drawing his weapon as they caught sight of a rather large welcoming party; several Hakkonites, including a massive brute in a horned helmet, stood on the steps. As soon as the Inquisitor and her companions were within view, the big horned buffoon let out a bloodthirsty war cry and they rushed to attack.

“Watch out for the big guy, Sunshine!” Varric shouted, even as Dorian lit up the temple steps with his chain lightning.

“Just try to stay out of the line of fire!” she called back, activating her Aegis. Most of the Hakkonites were ranged fighters, so this was pretty effective; however, the big horned thing was not, and he went barreling through the magic dome and swung his giant whatever-it-was at her head. The weird discoloration of the air made it impossible for Varric to perfectly see what was going on in there. Bianca was protesting at how fast he was pulling her trigger, but he couldn’t pay attention to the complaint, because he needed to get to where he could possibly help Bethany. Of course, that barrier wasn’t going to let Bianca’s bolts into it, so this was going to require some thinking.

Then again, maybe not. By the time he reached her, Bethany sent what was left of the horned monstrosity tumbling to the foot of the stairs leading to the temple. The barrier disappeared in time for him to catch a quick glimpse of her expression – determined, satisfied, and maybe just a little bit smug. She caught Varric’s eye and winked before turning her attention to the few Hakkonites yet remaining on the steps. He felt his lips curl into a smirk.

_How are there people in Thedas who **don’t** love this woman?_

Inside of Razikale’s Reach (Varric wasn’t sure if that was really its name or if Dorian made that up, but it wasn’t like it mattered anyway), they found even more Hakkon bastards and _another_ oversized warrior with horns and a big blunt weapon. It was almost ridiculous.

“All these people just to deal with little old me?” Bethany shouted over the fray, and he choked on his laughter.

“Your reputation precedes you, Sunshine,” he called back. “Larger than life and all that.”

“Sweet talker!” She threw him a smile even as she clenched her marked hand, creating a temporary rift in the air over several of the Hakkonites’ heads. Damn, she really had gotten good at that.

Once the enemies were fully dispatched, they took a better look at where they were. “Makes you wonder about the sad, mid-level bureaucrat who thought building an outpost here would be a career boost,” Dorian deadpanned.

“This looks like some sort of entrance courtyard,” said Bethany. “It reminds me of the vestibule area in the Temple of Mythal. But what connection could it have to Ameridan’s quest?”

“Well, he _was_ hunting a dragon,” said Varric. “Probably not Razikale, of course, but maybe he came here for a starting point of some kind? I mean, in Ameridan’s day, the ancient Imperium wasn’t quite as ancient as it is now – there might have been clues here that he would have understood and we don’t.”

“That’s possible,” she agreed. The scouts and soldiers who had accompanied them were milling near the entrance, and she approached them. A few minutes later, half the group disappeared back into the wilderness, while the rest set to work cleaning up the area and establishing some tents. Bethany returned to her friends and explained, “I’ve sent some of our people to retrieve Professor Kenric and Scout Harding. Kenric will have a better idea than I do of what we might find here, but it’ll take some time for them to reach us so we may as well get comfortable while we wait.”

“Anybody bring a deck of cards?” asked Bull.

* * *

“This is brilliant!”

Those were the first words out of Kenric’s mouth when he arrived, agape and staring, at Razikale’s Reach. It was sort of endearing, in a weird way. “This must be what the spirit meant,” he continued, still gazing around himself in undisguised wonder. “Excellent find!”

“Judging by the number of people who came to welcome us when we arrived,” said Bethany, “we think this is what the Jaws of Hakkon have been fighting so hard to keep your people from finding. But we haven’t yet figured out the significance.”

“From what I can see, this is an ancillary station, likely a scouting post for the larger structure to the east,” Kenric told her.

“Then – it isn’t a temple?”

“I don’t think so. Perhaps it was used for religious purposes in addition,” he mused. “What can it tell us about where Inquisitor Ameridan went? Hmm.”

“I got Professor Kenric here safely. The rest is up to you,” said Freckles with a shrug.

Kenric seemed to brighten a little at her words, which was impressive considering he was already lit up like a feastday morning. “Lady Harding was quite nimble in the wilderness!” he informed them.

She chuckled a little, pink. “I’ll be watching to make sure the Hakkonites don’t come back,” was all she said. Varric glanced at Bethany, who looked profoundly amused; they were on the same page.

The courtyard was flanked by a pair of staircases which led up to small towers, neither of which served any discernible purpose beyond maybe being a lookout. From one of these, they studied the weird tower opposite the temple-or-whatever. It seemed to have some kind of mechanism on it, constructed from obsidian or some other black metal, just like the spires which had led them there; a lever was just barely visible. “That means something,” remarked Her Sunny Worship. “I just don’t know what. But we saw something like it over near Nigel’s Point, I remember – I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time.”

“You want I should go pull the lever, boss?” asked Bull.

“Not yet. I think we should take a look inside this Razikale’s Reach before we do anything else.”

They returned to Kenric and Harding, and looked up at yet another set of stairs leading into more of the building proper. “The door at the top is open,” Varric pointed out. “The Hakkonites probably hung out in there until they knew we were getting close.”

“This is Tevinter,” Kenric confirmed as they climbed the stairs – not that any of them had really thought otherwise. “From well before the last Inquisitor’s time.” 

“What _is_ this?” asked Bull, puzzled. He was staring at a grid of tiles on the ground. Varric frowned; there was something oddly familiar about it.

“I understand they used such tiles as locks,” said Kenric. “Interesting, though not likely related to Ameridan.”

“Locks.” Varric looked at Bethany, who wore a frown he imagined was similar to his own. “Why does that – oh!” Her topaz eyes widened in recognition. “Chateau Haine! Remember, Varric?”

“Oh, yeah – Duke Prosper’s treasure vault. He had something like this set up to guard his gold,” he recalled. “We had to step on the tiles in the right order to make them flip over in a pattern.” He chuckled wryly. “Took so damn long on the one puzzle, the guy practically had enough time to summon part of the Orlesian army to arrest us when we came out.”

“Well, let’s see if we can work this out,” she said. “If I remember correctly, stepping on one of Duke Prosper’s titles would make all the adjacent tiles flip as well as the one on which we were stepping. And there was – yes, look, a lever. If this is like those, that will reset the puzzle if I make a mistake. Dorian, go stand by that, please, and pull on it if I tell you.”

“All right. I’m terribly curious to see how you manage this.”


	34. I'd Say More 'Wonky' Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor meets Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the people who are still reading this. I leave a month from today for a trip to Europe and it's my intention to have this finished before I go.

It did help, Varric noted, that in front of each of the doors on either side of the floor puzzle were what looked like ugly welcome mats detailing specific patterns. It wasn’t hard to figure out that these were the puzzle solutions – causing the tiles to light up according to the patterns would open the doors in question. Working out how to create those patterns was another matter, but Sunshine’s memory was pretty accurate with regard to how the tiles worked.

It was maybe a quarter of an hour before she opened the door leading west. They entered warily, but no ancient enemies were sitting there waiting to attack; instead, the room was entirely empty except for an old treasure chest and another dragon statue. Varric opened the chest and pulled out the extremely old staff it contained. “Not sure if this thing still works – probably, but I don’t speak magic – but I’d bet some museum would love to have it.”

Dorian, meanwhile, was examining the dragon statue with great interest. “Bethany – everyone – listen to this. _Dragon of Mystery, return to us, we beg you. Your servants falter. The paths ahead are lost in darkness, and those who walk them find only ruin. Those who should guide us instead wage war upon each other, vying for a throne that does not exist._ I think I’m starting to understand why Razikale’s cultists came here.”

“What do you mean, Dorian?” Bethany walked over to peer at the words he was reading.

“If I’m not very much mistaken, I believe they were trying to flee from the actions of the magisters who broke into the Golden City,” he replied, almost excitedly. “They were ‘vying for a throne’ – the throne of the Maker. The followers may not have completely understood what they were doing, but they knew it was trouble and they wanted to get as far away from it as possible and try to convince their goddess to come and clear up the mystery.”

“Huh. You know, that almost makes sense – which, for an ancient Tevinter cult, is pretty impressive,” said Varric. “No offense, Sparkler.”

“None taken.”

“This room is stale,” commented Bull, sniffing the air. “Staler than other parts of this place, I mean. I don’t think Ameridan ever came in here – it’s like this has been sealed longer than the parts he would have bothered visiting.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Professor Kenric. “This is a treasure vault and not much more. Interesting, to be sure, but the Inquisitor wouldn’t have concerned himself with anything that wasn’t directly connected to his mission.”

“I don’t doubt you’re right. But let’s see if we can open the other one,” Bethany replied, “just in case.”

* * *

The second vault was even less interesting than the first – no shrine to anybody, no cryptic messages, just another chest with a dagger inside. Shrugging off the relative pointlessness of this endeavor, they trudged up a flight of stairs to see what the rest of the building had to offer. “Well, I wasn’t expecting this,” said Kenric, as they found themselves confronted by a magic barrier over a doorway.

“We’ve seen things like this before,” said Bethany, “but they’re not usually green. How do we dispel this, I wonder.”

Turning around, they found that there was another flight of stairs leading up to some kind of statue with a lever, not unlike the one in the tower out in the courtyard opposite the temple steps. Bull wandered up and pulled the lever experimentally, but nothing happened. He squinted with his lone eye, and pointed with half a finger. “Over there. I see one of those green magic not-fire torches.”

“Veilfire?”

“Yeah, that. Maybe that’ll fix the problem.”

“It’s worth a try,” agreed Her Sunny Worship. Sure enough, a moment later she was more or less burning away the magic which covered the doorway, and they all made their way into the chamber that was revealed.

It was weird, but so was damn near everything they’d encountered over the past year. There was some pottery (mostly broken), and some flowers (Varric couldn’t figure that out), and some plaque-like things on the walls and a figure of Andraste set into an alcove. It was a sort of primitive statue, not at all polished or very detailed, and in its outstretched hands it held a pair of halla figures.

“Oh, well done,” said Kenric admiringly. “Well done, indeed.”

“That’s something you don’t see every day,” Harding remarked.

“A pair of shrines.” He moved to study the alcove more closely. “This one is clearly Andrastian, albeit from a very early period – likely pre-Divine. But this is elven. One of their gods.” He rubbed his face. “Um, what was it? Every Mother Finds Druffalo Among Sleeping Juniper Groves… G-something. The one with the deer.”

“I think you mean Ghilan'nain, the Mother of the Halla,” said Bethany, helpfully. “We've seen halla statues like these all over Thedas, and Solas told me they were constructed to honor her.”

“Yes, brilliant, thank you!” He chuckled. To Harding, he added, almost confidentially, “That would have bothered me all day.”

Harding smiled, and looked at the shrine again. “Two shrines for two lovers,” she mused. “Inquisitor Ameridan and Telana. Maybe Telana was an elf.”

“Oh, yes, that's good!” said Kenric. “The Chantry expunged references to elves before the Exalted March on the Dales.” He shook his head. “They erased the Canticle of Shartan. They must have done the same to Telana.”

Bethany frowned, looking almost annoyed. “I think when we get back to Skyhold, I'm going to discuss that with Leliana.” To Kenric she clarified, “My spymaster has been selected to become the next Divine. I'll bet she'll have some thoughts on that. But in the meantime, Professor, what do you think Ameridan was doing here? Is this where he died?”

“No.” He shook his head again. “This was a site of preparation, not burial. Ameridan and Telana put up this shrine together.”

“Look at those flowers,” said Harding, nodding at the base of the shrine. “They’re not native to the area. What if they were left at the shrine as an offering?”

“And they're still here after being sealed behind a magic wall for how many ages?” Varric snarked. “I know a couple of gardeners back in Kirkwall who would pay good money for that kind of spell.” Bethany smiled and shushed him.

“A night of prayer before battle against the dragon. It makes sense.” Kenric steepled his fingers against his lips, thinking. “But then where, where… we’re missing something. What are we missing? Where did you go?”

There were a pair of veilfire torches on either side of the shrine alcove. Dorian helped himself to some of the magical light and started walking around the room, slowly, letting the un-fire wash over the walls and illuminate corners and crevices. “There must be something here. I’m not sure _what_ , but there’s something. I’m sure of it.”

“What’s that?” Bethany asked, pointing. To the left of the entrance, Dorian’s torch had lit up some words, and she was peering at them curiously. “Professor, look at this: ‘Shartan 10:7’ and ‘Transfigurations 10:1.’ Chant verses.”

“Hm. Shartan is dissonant,” said Kenric, joining her. “ _And before them, empty, outstretched lay the land which led to the gates of Minrathous_. And Transfigurations is, _The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world._ Why these verses?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why would Inquisitor Ameridan take the time to carve this before going into battle?”

“Why do you know both of those verses off the top of your head?” Varric countered.

“Well, you have me there.”

The obelisk, or whatever one might call the thing on which Ameridan had carved the verses, was crackling with a shimmering green light not unlike the veilfire. A similar object stood on the right side of the entrance, so Dorian moved to where he could illuminate it. “I don’t see anything written on this one,” he said, “but it’s lighting up the same way as the other one.”

“Wait a minute,” said Bethany. Her forehead was slightly scrunched in a way that indicated she’d been thinking. “The gates of Minrathous. Like the frozen gates?”

“It _is_ a Tevinter fortress where the Hakkonites are hiding, I should think,” Dorian agreed. “Do you think Ameridan was leaving a clue?”

“A clue, or simply an expression of what he intended.”

“Of course, the ritual site!” Kenric sounded delighted. “To seal the dragon away, Ameridan’s elven mage must have used a spell at a site of great power!”

“My scouts have checked the fortress, Inquisitor,” said Harding. “It’s sealed behind a wall of ice, just like Thane Sun-Hair told you. It has to be magic.”

Bethany nodded. “Lowlander magic, she called it. Something the Avvar didn’t understand.”

Before they could discuss the matter farther, they heard Bull’s voice. He had stepped outside and was calling to her. “Uh... boss? You might want to have a look at this.”

* * *

The thing with the lever at the top of the stairs was unchanged. However, on either side of it stood two more blades made of the black metal, like the spires which had led them there, and these were alive and blazing with green crackling light just like the whatever-they-were inside the shrine room. “I don’t know what you did,” Bull continued as they joined him, “but you woke _something_ up with that veilfire.”

“Let’s try pulling the lever again,” said Bethany, hopefully. The group parted a little bit, allowing her to be the one to climb the stairs and make the attempt, but nothing happened. Again.

“Well, that didn’t do the trick,” said Dorian.

“We’re missing something.” She frowned, tapping her foot thoughtfully. “Ameridan got _into_ that fortress, I’m sure, but he was smart enough to realize he might not make it back _out_. He must have left something for us to follow him. Let's look around.”

“Over by where we got the veilfire, there’s another one of these things,” said Bull. “Let’s see if it’s got a lever.”

“Might as well try it,” said Varric. “If nothing else, it’ll eliminate the possibility.”

“We’ll stay here,” said Bethany. “Bull, Dorian, you go pull the lever. We don’t know what any of this might do, so be ready for anything.”

The path to the veilfire torch and the other thing with the lever was broken down, but somebody – Ameridan, maybe, but at this point who knew – had carefully arranged boards to enable passage over the broken bits. After some uneasy lumbering on Bull’s part and more delicate steps for Dorian, they were in position. Varric knew the instant one of them pulled the lever, even though he couldn’t see it, because there was a distinct rumbling and creaking and groaning all around as the thing where he and Bethany were standing changed form. It had two… wings, for lack of a better description, at the top, and these shifted to touch the crackling blade sculptures.

“Well, that did… something,” said Bethany. She studied the blazing magic for a moment. “‘The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world’?”

“Maybe in this case, ‘her’ means you,” said Varric.

“Brilliant!” Kenric and Harding were at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the whole thing. “When the Imperium abandoned this fortress, they left the wall of ice to – to lock the door behind them?” he offered.

“And every lock has a key.” Harding sounded almost smug. Varric found it hilarious.

“Like these trail markers,” Kenric agreed. “Ameridan must have known how to use them. If they can melt through the ice, that must be where Ameridan sealed away the dragon.”

“He must have broken through the ice, let himself in, and then found a way to un-melt it, so to speak,” Bethany mused. “But how?”

“Sounds unnecessarily complicated,” said Varric. “Then again, if that dragon is still in there like you were saying, Sunshine, then it's probably actually _necessarily_ complicated.”

“Well,” she replied, “let's see what happens if we pull this lever now.” Reaching out with gloved hands, and looking entirely nonplussed, she pushed the lever downward. The results were moderately spectacular; a jet of green light went sailing down from the top of the mechanism to the one in the tower opposite the temple entrance. “Oh. So that’s what happens.”

“I guess we have to follow the markers, huh?”

“And pull every single switch.” She nodded. “It must act like a focus – each marker carries power from the one before it, and they get progressively stronger until they're able to melt the ice.”

“And then what?” Varric didn’t doubt her, of course, but the situation wasn’t exactly filling him with glee. “We get rid of the ice, great, but there’s still a wall. And a whole lot of Hakkonite bastards who want you dead.”

“I know. I’m hoping that once we get rid of the ice, Thane Sun-Hair might have some ideas.” They descended the stairs; Dorian and Bull were already hurrying to join them. “Harding, can you get Professor Kenric to Stone-Bear Hold safely? Tell the Thane everything that’s happened and what we’ve figured out, and wait for us there. Tell her we’ll be ready to plan an assault on the Hakkon fortress as soon as we deal with the ice.”

“I will, Inquisitor.” Harding looked worried, however. “Just… please be safe.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Bethany smiled. “I’m as safe with my dwarf as the Professor is with you. We’ll join you as soon as we can.”

* * *

It wasn’t the most amusing way to spend the next couple of hours (Varric was guessing as to the time), but he supposed it could have been worse. Somehow. Barely.

The trail of markers – he found himself wondering how they had failed to take much notice of the ugly things earlier – led them over hill and dale through the Basin. Some of it was familiar, some was not. He took some comfort from knowing that Dorian was at least as unhappy to be there as he himself was, although part of Sparkler’s discomfort came from the scenery. “Every time I think I've seen the ugliest Avvar statue, a new one turns up that surpasses my expectations,” he drawled.

They could hear some of the Hakkonites shouting curses and threats as the ice finally melted, but Bethany paid them no mind. They didn’t have the courage to come after her in the moment, it seemed, and they were entirely unhindered as they made their way to Stone-Bear Hold. Varric could see the relief in her eyes when she realized that Kenric and Harding were already in the Thane’s audience chamber. _She worries too much. But I can’t criticize, I’m no better._

“Your skald and your scout are here,” said the Thane in greeting. “We can plan the assault.”

“Oh, I like the sound of ‘skald,’” said Kenric, eagerly. “It’s more dramatic than ‘professor’.” Harding coughed, and he looked a bit sheepish. “Yes, well,” he continued, “everything we’ve found about Inquisitor Ameridan suggests that he never emerged from that Tevinter fortress.”

“If that is where your Inquisitor defeated Hakkon, then that is where the Jaws of Hakkon must perform the rite to free him,” said Thane Sun-Hair. She seemed to be watching Bethany closely, Varric thought, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was just imagining it.

“Whatever Inquisitor Ameridan did, it saved the lowlands from invasion,” said Sunshine. Her expression was just slightly dimmed. “I have to try to do the same. I don’t know exactly what the Hakkonites are planning, but it’s nothing good.”

Harding, it seemed, had other concerns, and she addressed herself to the Thane respectfully. “You really have no problem with us killing your god?”

“Gods cannot be reborn until they die.” Sun-Hair chuckled. “Hakkon needs a good rebirthing.”

“If you say so.”

“With its ice-wall melted,” the Thane continued, “the fortress is open to attack. We must strike soon, before our foes recover.”

“They’re already trying,” Harding reported grimly. “I’ve got most of our forces defending the shrine from Hakkonites who want to restore the wall.”

“Then we have to move quickly.” Bethany looked a little sickly at Harding’s words. “I don’t want to risk _any_ lives unnecessarily, from the Inquisition or from Stone-Bear.”

“What gives you fear, Inquisitor?” asked Sun-Hair, curiously. “Is this not the battle you wanted?”

“Too many have already died. Too many have given their lives for our cause.” Oh, _that’s_ why she looked like that. Varric tried not to visibly wince as he understood. “I don’t want to lose more.”

“I am no warrior,” Kenric put in, “but with Lady Harding’s forces defending the shrine and no way to breach the walls…?”

The Thane laughed at that. “Lowlanders. Why not _climb_ the walls?”

“You can… do that?” asked Bethany, startled.

“Your warriors can get over those walls before the Hakkonites stop them?” Harding added.

“This is not a war, Stone-Daughter.” The Thane’s tone was pleasant. “This is a raid. We strike at night, clad lightly. We climb the wall and open the gate from inside.”

“If your people can get us inside, my friends and I should be able to disrupt whatever the Hakkonites are doing,” said Bethany. She looked heartened. “You have my thanks, Thane Sun-Hair.”

“The Jaws of Hakkon have been bugs in my bedroll for months, Inquisitor. We owe _you_ thanks.” Varric couldn’t suppress a snicker at that – he’d need to remember that line.

Harding looked like she was plotting. “Inquisition forces will feign weakness near the shrine. That will draw some of them away from the fortress.”

“Not too many, I hope.” Kenric looked nervous.

“Yes – save some for us!” the Thane added cheerfully.

* * *

Varric had to hand it to the... Bearites? Stone-people? He still wasn’t sure what to call Thane Sun-Hair’s hold members; it wasn’t as easy to nickname them as it was for the Hakkonites. But whatever they were called, they were damn good at what they did.

Arguably the most unexpected thing about the assault outside the fortress was that Storvacker herself came to help them take on her former captors. Considering how many bears they’d had to fight over the last several months, fighting alongside one just felt strange. Cole, on the other hand, was delighted. “I’m glad to see you too!” he informed her, apparently reading something in her mind which said that she was happy to be with them again.

But that wasn’t the weirdest part.

That it was a long slog through the fortress was no surprise. That it was _freezing_ was slightly more of one; apparently the magic brought down the ice wall, but didn’t exactly raise the temperature inside the building, and they quickly realized that they were in tremendous danger if they strayed too far from the fire pits scattered throughout the corridors. The ancient Vints left some treasures, which might be picked over later if they felt inclined to send researchers, and there even seemed to be veilfire runes carved in places. But they elected to ignore them for the most part, in favor of not freezing to death.

Still not the weirdest part.

The ritual was in progress as they drew near. Gurd Harofsen, the leader of the Jaws of Hakkon, was the one running the show, and the reason Varric knew this was because they could hear his voice echoing through the empty halls.

_Sing the song of savage Hakkon, born in battle, bloody bladed. Wintersbreath to wrack the Lowlands, cold to cut and kill the hated. Meet the might of Mountain-Father, crush the creed of Korth the callow. Leave the Lady lost and lonely, scour the skies of spirits sallow! Gurd Harofsen, called the Cutter, wyvern-slayer, lowland-bane, begs of Hakkon, bring his body bloody blessings, cold and pain!_

Dramatic, sure. And apparently it worked, because by the time Bethany and her crew reached him, Harofsen had managed to turn himself into a damned revenant, which made him about three times as hard to kill as he should have been. He had also been given really nasty frost powers, so in addition to attacking them outright, he was also turning the nearby fire pits into piles of ice. This made sense, since he’d opened up his body to Hakkon _Wintersbreath_ , and with a name like that it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t about to make flowers grow. But it made the whole fight a lot more troublesome than it rightly should have been.

 _Still_ not the weirdest part.

No, the weirdest part – the part that made Varric wonder if anybody in their right mind was going to believe him when he finally published his book about the Inquisition – came when the fighting stopped. Harofsen’s body collapsed in a heap of bones and husk, just like his followers, and suddenly the whole place warmed even as what looked like a massive cloud of steam erupted through it. The deadly cold was gone. It wasn’t the Tevinter magic causing it to be frozen inside at all; it was the presence of Hakkon Wintersbreath. And with him gone, they all turned their attention to an enormous rock formation; chunks of the floor were rising to create a sort of staircase leading to it, and a lone figure sat at the pinnacle, with a strange ice formation above his head.

He was an elf, with coarse black hair and a long face covered in vallaslin; what kind, Varric didn’t know. The man was crouched, with a mage’s staff clutched in his hands, and as they started to approach, he raised his head. They could see that his eyes were green and very bright; he had a strange sort of wisdom in his expression, and the faintest of smiles quirked the corners of his mouth. There was only one explanation – only one person he could possibly be – and Varric realized it even as Bethany greeted him.

“Inquisitor,” she said, in her soft voice.

He studied her briefly, and seemed to understand exactly what she wasn’t saying. “Inquisitor,” he replied, acknowledging his successor with a nod. Varric wondered how he knew who she was. “How fares Drakon? Has he brought the Chant to the whole world yet?”

“You’ve been gone a long time, messere,” she said.

“You say that as if it…” Ameridan trailed off. “How long, exactly?”

“You, um... you disappeared in 1:20 Divine. That was around the time of the signing of the Nevarran Accord...” Bethany swallowed. “…about eight hundred years ago. Until I was given the post last year, there has not been another Inquisitor since then.”

Ameridan looked shocked, and Varric couldn’t exactly blame him, poor guy. “Drakon was my oldest friend,” he protested. “He would have sent someone to find me.”

“I'm afraid Drakon was a little busy with the darkspawn pouring down from the Anderfels,” Dorian replied. Cole and Bull remained silent, but Cole nodded at this.

“I see.” The elf paused. “Telana escaped the battle. Did she... do the records say what became of her?”

Bethany hesitated, apparently trying to decide what to tell him. “She, ah... she died many years later, after a good long life. She never forgot you.”

Ameridan chuckled sadly. “You lie well, but I hunted demons and maleficarum long before I was Inquisitor.” He sighed. “I never wanted this job,” he added, somewhat conversationally. “Hunting demons was so much simpler than politics.”

“You’re a mage,” said Bethany, curious. “The... the records don't indicate that, and the Seekers don't allow mages to join. How is it possible?”

Ameridan blinked. “Has history forgotten so much?”

“You have no idea, friend,” Varric told him.

“I was not a Seeker myself, as most Inquisitors were. I used my magical gifts in the hunting of demons and maleficarum. Do the Seekers truly no longer welcome the aid of mages?”

Bethany shook her head. “It was forgotten – _allowed_ to be forgotten – along with many other things,” she said grimly. “Our friend Cassandra isn't here, but she's trying to rebuild the Seekers as they should be. They went rogue, not very long ago, and she learned the truth about them when they did. About the rite of Tranquility.”

“You mean sundering one from the Fade? The Seekers do it briefly when granting an initiate their abilities.” Ameridan looked puzzled.

“Yes, but they also do it... permanently, now. It's used as a way to control mages the Chantry thinks are too dangerous. In the wrong hands, it's used in other ways too,” Bethany added, and from the bitterness of her tone, Varric knew she was thinking of Ser Alrik.

Ameridan sighed again. “Killing a man is ugly work,” he said. “You learn not to look to it as your first recourse. But sundering them from the Fade is _easy_. Bloodless. I _told_ them spreading such a ‘solution’ would lead to abuse. They swore that would never happen. They _promised_!”

“I’m sorry to lay this on you right as you, um, wake up,” said Bethany, and her voice was back to its usual gentleness. “It seems like a lot of things changed when you disappeared. A lot of things went wrong. But I swear to you, the Inquisition will help Cassandra make the Seekers be what they ought to be again.”

“Then you and your friend have my thanks.” The elf rolled his shoulders inside of his armor, still shining after so many centuries. “I was a good hunter. I did not want to lead an organization. But Drakon told me I was needed... as I suspect you were needed.”

“If you were needed _half_ as badly as she was,” said Varric, “it must have been a mess.”

“Well, it hasn’t been entirely terrible,” Bethany protested mildly.

Ameridan chuckled faintly. “I am glad to hear it. Take moments of happiness where you can find them, Inquisitor… the world will take the rest.” Almost instinctively, Varric glanced at Bethany to find that she was likewise glancing at him. “I am sorry to burden you with my unfinished business,” her predecessor continued. “The dragon carries the spirit of an Avvar god. I lacked the strength to kill it.”

For the first time, Varric took a really good look at the ice sculpture over Ameridan’s head. It wasn’t a sculpture – it wasn’t even a natural ice formation dangling from the ceiling, as he’d initially assumed. It was a dragon, frozen solid. _Well, shit._

“My own magic was able to bind us both, locked in time,” Ameridan explained. “But when the cultists drew that spirit into another vessel, it disrupted my bindings. It is breaking free.”

“Well, the last would-be god who tried to destroy the world is dead,” said Bethany, a bit saucy, “and he had a dragon too. If we did it before, we can do it again.”

“Then I leave the world in good hands,” he said with a smile.

“Come with us,” she pleaded. “Fight him with me.”

He shook his head. “The passage of years can be delayed, but not ignored. I will soon join Telana at Andraste's side. But… take this.” He gestured to her, and with her marked hand she seemed to catch something that Varric didn’t see. “It holds the last few memories of an old hunter who was neither as wise nor as strong as he thought. Fight well, Inquisitor. I am honored to have met you.”

“The honor was mine, Inquisitor.” Bethany sounded oddly formal, Varric thought. “Be at peace.”

Ameridan gave her one final nod before completely evaporating into a cloud of smoke. As he did, his staff fell onto the stone where he had knelt for eight hundred years, and the stones beneath their feet suddenly sank back into the floor. They were all sent tumbling, and barely seconds later, the now-unfrozen dragon likewise collapsed to the floor. It got to its feet and shook its head in confusion, then uttered a scream of what Varric imagined must have been cosmic annoyance before flying off through some hole in the roof.

“We've got to stop the dragon,” said Bethany, picking herself up and moving to help Dorian do the same. “It's still got Hakkon's spirit inside it - it will destroy everything in its path.”


	35. A Careful Path to Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting a dragon, judging a bear, collecting some memories - all in a day's work in the Frostback Basin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Well, I had hoped to get things wrapped up before I went to Europe last month, but time got away from me and it just didn't happen like I'd hoped. But I'm back, I had the most amazing time, and I've got a fresh new chapter for you. I hope you enjoy it!

Because they had struck the Hakkonite stronghold under cover of darkness, it was entirely necessary to wait until sunrise before they set off in search of the spirit-possessed beast. It wasn’t judged especially wise to stay where they were, for various reasons, so they emerged from the ancient structure and followed their Stone-Bear allies back to the hold, where they once again spent the night in the hut not being used by their buddy Finn. So far, so good.

By the light of the next day, they found the landscape dramatically altered. “I guess he’s not called Hakkon Wintersbreath for nothing,” said Bull, as they gazed out at the frozen shoreline of the lake below the hold. “Looks like he’s been having some fun while we were sleeping.”

“We’d better take care of him first,” said Bethany. She glanced at the amulet she’d received from Ameridan. “Afterward we can go and see about these memories he wanted me to hear.”

“What if the memories are needed to defeat that thing?” Varric asked her. “And do we even know where to find them?”

She paused, looking at the whatever-it-was Ameridan had tossed to her. “You’re right,” she said. “If I’m understanding this correctly – it’s magic, of course – then following the trail of the memories will lead us down to where we can confront Hakkon. Let’s move quickly.”

* * *

There were five memories to collect, in all. One was out on the island where they had encountered Telana’s spirit, and another was on the beach where they would have to face Hakkon, so those needed to wait until after the dragon battle. The first they recovered was at the place where they had joined Colette, where the Avvar built a statue to honor Haron and Orinna. The others watched in puzzled silence as Bethany stretched her marked hand out, and a glow of magic formed around the fingers; it was like closing a rift in reverse, or at least that was the best way Varric could describe it. As the glow faded, they could all hear an echo of Ameridan’s voice in the air around them, as though he was reading out loud from his own diary.

“ _We have a plan. Haron and Orinna will lead the Avvar elsewhere, so Telana and I can deal with the dragon. My spirit companion believes we can seal the dragon away, even if we cannot kill it. It is less clear whether I can do so without sealing myself in as well… but I have little choice. This beast will wreak devastation across Orlais unless we stop it now._

“He saved all of Orlais from the Avvar, and no one ever knew.” Dorian, to Varric’s surprise, sounded a little heartsick.

Bethany clearly heard it too, and tried to immediately lighten the mood. “I suppose he didn’t have a one-man public relations team like I do,” she joked. “But he did have a spirit companion, it seems.”

“Like me!” said Cole. “I hope it helped. I hope I help.”

“You do. And I’m sure it did too.”

From there they returned to Razikale’s Reach, and the strange shrine to Andraste and Ghilan'nain. “ _I prepare now for my final battle against this dragon of the Avvar. All is in place. I offer thanks to Ghilan'nain, Halla-Mother, and to Andraste, Maker-Bride. As you were raised up from mortal men to stand with our Creators, our Makers, so raise me up now to defend this world._ ”

“It’s a little incredible, isn’t it?” asked Bethany after a few moments of silence. “He helped bring the Inquisition over to the worship of the Maker, but he was Dalish and worshiped the Creators. It seems like he might have worshiped _both_.”

“Belief is a funny thing,” Varric pointed out. “An elven Inquisitor must have had a careful path to walk.”

The final memory they could collect before facing Hakkon was in one of the caves, the one Bethany had explored with Bull while Varric and Dorian waited outside. This one left them all chuckling a little bit. “ _If I must go to the end of Thedas itself for Drakon, I am at least glad to have friends at my side. Telana and Haron have been arguing about Haron using the lyrium to fight demons. Some things never change. Orinna has a new alchemical trick she wants to try. Like pitch or tar, but stronger. A recipe straight from Orzammar. They argue, fuss, and mock each other mercilessly… and I would be lost without them._ ”

“Yes, what’s that like?” asked Dorian, mustache quivering.

“You know, when we were here before,” said Bethany, “I found some writings that I think were by Haron. He talked about Orinna telling horrible jokes. Between that and this, I’m getting the most curious sense of what the Orlesians call _déjà vu_.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Bull, grinning. “The last Inquisitor hung around with a spirit, a dwarf with an offbeat sense of humor, a really pretty mage, and a fierce and determined warrior? Does this sound at all familiar to anyone?”

“Almost eerie, in its way,” Dorian agreed. “Don’t forget the fact that the Inquisitor _was_ a rather pretty mage too.”

Bethany flashed him a smile. “Well, I’m afraid that’s all we can do for now. We’ll need to deal with Hakkon before we can collect the rest… I hope they don’t contain information that we need urgently.”

* * *

The funny thing was, as Varric realized after the fact, fighting the dragon was the _least_ unusual part of the day.

Anyone who had ever fought a dragon – although Varric was willing to acknowledge that in the current Age that number was relatively low – understood that the fights are usually fairly similar to one another. The beast is studied for the first several minutes, usually while the fighters in question do a complicated dance around the battlefield in order to dodge whatever projectiles are coming out of its mouth. Potential weak spots are identified (dragon knees never were the greatest), and ineffective kinds of attacks are discarded. In this particular case, the dragon was spitting ice attacks, and Varric didn’t know whether that was because of the spirit of Hakkon Wintersbreath or if the ancient Avvar had simply lucked out in finding a frost dragon in which to bind their god. On balance, it probably didn’t matter.

In most respects, it was a completely ordinary dragon fight, inasmuch as such a thing existed. But it did have one weird aspect, and if Varric hadn’t heard it for himself he might not have believed it: the dragon talked. More accurately, it was probably Hakkon doing the talking, and maybe the dragon didn’t have anything to do with it at all. It wasn’t like he could tell whether the thing’s mouth was moving, since he was more focused on staying within Bethany’s Aegis and away from its ice breath.

At first it was all posturing and self-aggrandizement. “Lowlanders, I am the breath of winter, the cold wind of war! Join me in battle and die!” Varric supposed that after a few centuries of being locked inside an ice spell, Hakkon might have been worried that his opponents didn’t know who they were facing. Or maybe he was just really good at selling himself. As a published author, Varric could appreciate that sort of skill.

“I am cold! I am war!”

“You are as big of a blowhard as everything else we’ve fought,” Dorian countered. “Maker’s breath, he’s so dramatic I’m of half a mind to send him to my father.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, _kadan_?” Bull protested, swinging his weapon over his head.

“Oh, I suppose not.”

* * *

“Ahh… nothing like a good dragon fight to get the blood pumping,” Bull exulted some while later.

Hakkon Wintersbreath was dead – or rather, the dragon in which he’d been trapped for centuries was dead. If Thane Sun-Hair was correct, Hakkon himself had been kicked back to the Fade to be ‘rebirthed,’ whatever that entailed. Hopefully it meant he’d start paying attention to the Avvar again, if that was what they wanted. Varric would be satisfied just to know that he’d continue ignoring the lowlands.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself, Tiny,” he said. Bethany was engaged in conversation with Scout Harding, who had watched the fight from a safe distance and come to congratulate the Inquisitor on her victory. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the boss will get us into those trials the Avvar invited us to join before we head back to Skyhold. But I for one am looking forward to being in front of the fireplace again.”

“I won’t argue with that,” said Dorian. “Though once we’re back in Skyhold, Varric, I do hope you’ll give more thought to what we discussed a few days ago.”

“I haven’t forgotten, Sparkler, don’t worry.” In fact, Varric was a little baffled by just how calm he felt about the subject. Maybe _calm_ wasn’t the right word. _Resigned_ sounded closer. The whole thing had been decided without his input, after all; sometimes the head simply had to concede to what the heart chose. At least his heart had good taste.

Bethany joined them. “Everyone all right? Does anyone need healing?” she inquired.

“Nothing that a few potions didn’t fix,” Bull assured her. “Your dwarf might need a nap later.”

“I usually do,” Varric retorted. “I’m getting a little too old for this shit. Well, Sunshine, you want to go see the Thane, or should we grab those last two memories first?”

“I almost forgot about them,” she admitted with a chuckle. “One’s over there on the beach, so we may as well get that first.”

Hakkon’s icy effects on the waterfront were already beginning to thaw, so it wasn’t a challenge to walk to the lake’s edge and gather the next of Ameridan’s thought bubbles, or whatever they might be called. “ _I dislike being so far from home. Halamshiral needs me. The darkspawn have grown stronger. Some of my brothers would let those creatures destroy Orlais. They think Drakon no better than the Imperium. But if we do not stand with the humans against the darkspawn, we might lose everything we have gained. I will fight this Avvar-dragon for you, Drakon… and then we shall drive back the darkspawn together._ ”

Oh. Varric put the pieces together quickly; glancing at his friends’ faces told him that they did as well. “He never went back to Halamshiral,” said Bethany, sadly. “The elves ignored the darkspawn, because Ameridan wasn’t there to convince them to fight, and the Chantry made them pay for it. And Halamshiral is gone.”

Varric nodded, and gave a disgusted sort of grunt. “Looks like the Jaws of Hakkon indirectly destroyed the Dales.”

“I think I’m glad we didn’t know this when we met Ameridan,” she said. “It would have been much harder to look him in the eye.”

“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bull reminded her. “Don’t feel guilty for something that’s not your fault, boss.”

* * *

With the lake water melted, it was an easy matter to board the same boat they had used days earlier and return to the Lady’s Rest. The same cabin where they had found Telana’s remains was now the location of the final memory to be recovered. But it was different than they had left it.

“Flowers!” said Bethany, stooping to touch the blossoms of a patch of flowers which had sprung up in their absence. They grew through the cracks in the rotting floorboards, twining over the withered wood.

“Not just any flowers, either,” said Dorian. “The native flora here in the Basin is much larger and more imposing. These are the same flowers we saw at the shrine Ameridan and Telana built at Razikale’s Reach.”

“How’d they get here?” asked Bull, sounding baffled.

“The memories made them grow,” said Cole. “Lost and lonely and lingering, but now happy and whole. No more waiting, no more wondering.”

Nobody said anything; Varric found that he really couldn’t. He understood what Cole was telling them – he was suggesting that Ameridan and Telana were together again – but he didn’t quite dare put it into words, as though explaining it would somehow make it stop being true. That made no sense, but that was the feeling. Instead, they watched Bethany recover the final memory.

“ _Telana, my love. I should not have asked you to come with me, though I know you would not have stayed behind. You are a Dreamer, and this dragon the Avvar have tamed carries a demon inside it. I can see how its presence hurts you. You should be at Halamshiral, reminding our people of our alliance with Drakon. Not here, risking death again with me. Still, in the old tongue, your name, Telanadas, means ‘nothing is inevitable.’ I will remember your name and hope._ ”

“A Dreamer like Telana,” said Dorian, softly, “would be sensitive to demons. This spirit of Hakkon would have caused her a great deal of pain.”

“No more pain than watching everyone she loves die, I imagine,” Varric replied.

Bethany glanced at him, and gave a quick nod. “Well. That’s done,” she said finally. “They’re free, wherever they are, and so is Hakkon. Let’s… let’s get back to the boat.” She looped one arm around Dorian’s waist, and the other across Varric’s shoulders, as they all walked away from the flowers of Telana’s resting place.

* * *

“Inquisitor, you have done more for us than most who are _of_ Stone-Bear Hold.”

They returned to Stone-Bear Hold, where Thane Sun-Hair offered her sincere appreciation for their help with the whole matter. Most of the Jaws of Hakkon had been destroyed during the battle; what few remained wouldn’t be strong enough to cause further problems for anybody. Good news all around.

“It is not right,” she continued, “that a guest do so much. The hold has spoken, and you are no guest. You are kin.”

“I – oh.” Bethany looked genuinely surprised. “Well, that’s – that’s quite an honor, thank you.”

“More than that, your deeds have earned you a legend-mark worthy of one who broke the Jaws of Hakkon. From today, you are known to us as Inquisitor First-Thaw.”

“First… thaw?” Sunshine was still visibly pleased, and surprised, but also now confused.

“Yes.” Thane Sun-Hair also looked puzzled, as though the meaning should be obvious. “When the ice breaks and new spring comes to give life to the world! It is a very good name.”

“Oh, no, you’re right – it is,” said Bethany hastily. “I meant no offense, I was only surprised. Thank you, I’m very touched to be considered part of the hold.”

But then the Thane had a request for Bethany. It wasn’t a difficult one, or anything, just… weird.

“I hear you judge wrongs among your people, Inquisitor,” she said. “If you are willing, I ask you to judge Storvacker.”

“You… want me to judge… the bear?” Bethany glanced at Storvacker, and for the first time Varric realized that she was sitting next to the Thane’s chair.

“As a warrior of our hold,” Sun-Hair explained, “Storvacker should have died rather than submit to the vile ritual the Jaws of Hakkon had prepared.” The bear lowered her head, as though ashamed of herself at these words. The Thane looked a little troubled. “It is… unclear whether the augur or I should judge such a thing. You are here. I would be grateful.”

“Er… all right,” said Bethany, uncertainly.

Storvacker stood, and moved to face Thane’s chair from across the fire pit, where a few other hold members were standing guard. “Storvacker, will you speak to the hold of your deeds?”

This was answered with an incomprehensible string of grunts and growls. Bethany glanced at Cole, clearly hoping for a translation. “She is a good bear,” he said simply.

“I agree.” Sunshine gave him a little smile. “Storvacker, it is my considered opinion that you’ve suffered enough at the hands of the Jaws of Hakkon. No further punishment is needed – just continue to serve the hold as you have done.”

“I see the tales told of your kindness did not lie,” said Thane Sun-Hair approvingly, even as Storvacker shuffled out into the daylight.

“Yes, even Varric has never seen a need to exaggerate _that_ ,” said Sparkler with a smirk.

* * *

Of course, Varric knew that Dorian wasn’t going to let things lie.

They returned to the base camp, where Bethany went to consult with Professor Kenric about numerous things (including contacting Orzammar on his behalf) and leaving the four ‘boys’ to their own devices. Cole wandered away to play with some butterflies or something, and Bull wanted food, so only the dwarf and the Tevinter were left to converse. “Well?”

“Well what, Sparkler?”

“You said that you didn’t want to distract her while Hakkon still remained to be defeated. He’s dead, Corypheus is dead, there’s little of tremendous import left before us. What excuses remain?”

Varric couldn’t help being a little amused. “Are we on some kind of schedule here that I don’t know about?”

“I’d like to attend the wedding while I’m still young and beautiful,” Dorian replied, though he was obviously amused as well. “Also, the morbidly curious side of my mind wants to see what sort of children this union might produce.”

“I hadn’t even considered that,” Varric admitted. “Probably should, now that I think about it. The whole House Tethras thing and all. Well, if you’ll excuse me, Sparkler, I have a letter to write.” He stood. “And no, I’m not putting you off, this is actually relevant.”

“Considering that you pride yourself on being a liar, I’m not sure how much I should trust that statement.”

Varric chuckled and wandered away to a more secluded part of the encampment. With chairs and tables available, the walls offering protection from the wildlife, and the presence of sufficient lighting, he felt fairly relaxed. If all of nature was like this, he wouldn’t mind it nearly as much. One of the scouts responded to his request for writing materials, and he made himself comfortable.

> _Hey Ruffles,_
> 
> _We’re wrapping up the details here in the Basin. Short version, we took care of the major problems and a bunch of the minor ones, and our university pal shouldn’t be having any more trouble. We’ve all learned a lot about Inquisitor Ameridan. I’m sure Sunshine will have fun delivering this report to the council, so I won’t steal her thunder by spilling details._
> 
> _Instead, I have a request._
> 
> _Up in the Inquisitor’s bedroom, displayed rather prominently, you’ll find a portrait of a woman who looks a lot like her. That’s Leandra, her mother, if she never told you. Anyway, I need you to borrow it for a little bit before we come back. I don’t know enough about jewelry to do this myself, but I’m sure that a lady of your level of refinement will have all the necessary wisdom, and if you somehow don’t, you probably know someone who does._
> 
> _If you look at the portrait, you can see that Leandra’s wearing a ring. What I need from you is as detailed a description as you can get me of that ring – the cut, the stone, the band, all of it. I want to get a copy made, because of reasons. I’m sure you’ll have many hours of enjoyment in speculating about why. I’ll leave you to it. Just leave the finished description, along with a note identifying whatever it is you want as payment/hush money, in the drawer of my bedside table._
> 
> _Varric_


	36. We're Done Here, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Bethany speculate about Cullen's love life, Varric does a little work regarding his own, and they all head off to the Forbidden Oasis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric's Guild contact in this chapter is named after AlyssAlenko and foofyschmoofer, because I needed help coming up with a name and they were on board. :) Thanks!

“Just answer me one question,” said Varric. “Does Your Sunny Worship have some kind of aversion to taking a break?”

They were back in Skyhold, a few days after the defeat of Hakkon Wintersbreath, and Bethany was already planning her next excursion. As far as she and Dorian could tell (being the only ones left in the inner circle who even remotely understood such things), they had most likely assembled all of the necessary key fragments to open the so-called Forbidden Oasis, and she was itching to get out there and inform the Venatori who were still in position that they were wasting their time serving a dead master.

“This won’t take long,” she insisted. “They’re the last of the Venatori in this part of Thedas, at least as far as our informants have been able to determine. If there are others, they’re doing a remarkable job of hiding.”

“You’d think they’d have gotten the message by now.”

“You would,” Sunshine agreed. “It’s been nearly ten months since we defeated Corypheus, and yet the news hasn’t reached them.” She paused. “Then again, it’s entirely possible that we’ve killed everyone who might have passed on the information.”

“Andraste’s ass, it really _has_ been that long, hasn’t it? It almost doesn’t feel like it,” Varric admitted. “But I guess with everything that’s happened around here, it really has been that long.”

“Just traveling to and from the Hissing Wastes took almost a month in total, not even counting the time we actually spent there,” Bethany reminded him. “And that was after we spent six weeks here in Skyhold saying farewells and receiving visiting dignitaries. The desert was almost a welcome change of pace, though not as much as that several days we spent in Val Royeaux.” She looked a little wistful at the recollection.

“We’ll go back there sometime if you want,” he promised. “Not my favorite city, but it was a definite improvement over some of our other destinations.”

“It has to wait.” A smile was dawning on her features. “Once this business at the Forbidden Oasis is done, do you know what we’re going to do next?”

“I have some theories, but I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Once we get back, and I’m sure that everything is in order here, we’re going to Kirkwall.” There was a triumphant light in her eyes as she looked at him.

“...I have to admit, that _wasn’t_ one of my theories,” he said. “Really? We are?”

“All of us. Well, not all,” she amended. “My advisors will remain here to keep Skyhold operating smoothly. Two of them, at least.” Her expression turned a tiny bit sly. “Cullen has requested permission to accompany his lady to visit her parents.”

“Oh, _really_ now.” Varric chuckled. “We did good work there, you know that? And by ‘we’ I mostly mean you.”

“Why, thank you. I certainly did try to nudge them, and I was terribly pleased when the nudging bore fruit.” Bethany smiled again. “She’s also from the Free Marches, as you might recall, so I told him that you and I will be traveling to Kirkwall after this Oasis trip, and I asked whether they wanted to set out on their own in our absence or if they’d like to wait and we’ll all take ship together.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, what did he say?”

“They’re going without us.” She giggled. “I suspect that things are a little more serious there than I even realized. I asked whether he’s going to request a private audience with the lady’s father… he didn’t exactly say _yes_ , but he didn’t really say _no_ either, so I feel perfectly justified in thinking what I like.”

Varric laughed. “I may have to grill him for details after we get back from Kirkwall. It sounds like this might make a good addition to that romantic subplot in the Orlesian thriller – that whole bit is based on a few different couples, including them. Sort of mashed them all into one.”

“Oh, I wondered about that. The last bit you let me read was terribly exciting,” she added. “How much longer until it’s finished?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I only do what the characters tell me to do, and they can be really annoying sometimes.”

* * *

Josephine, meanwhile, had gotten his request, and was only too eager to assist. “Here you are, Varric,” she said, surrendering a few sheets of paper. “Every possible detail I could determine about the ring in the portrait, and I made a few sketches. Nothing grand, of course, but my father is an artist and I know a _little_ about such things.” Her dark eyes were sparkling with curiosity.

“Ruffles, you are worth your weight in raw lyrium,” he told her, shuffling through her writing. “This will help me a lot.”

“Is this… are you… including a description in your book?”

He glanced at her over the top of the sheets. “Now, that would be telling. You know I don’t give spoilers if I can help it. Besides, I don’t know yet quite how this scene is going to play out, so I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Having said that, you can go ahead and imagine whatever you like. You will anyway, so have fun.” He chuckled. “My only request is that you don’t discuss it with Her Inquisitorialness, if you please. It’s… sort of a surprise, you might say.”

“My lips are sealed,” she promised, looking delighted.

Leaving her to her speculations, he went in search of some writing implements to send a letter. Being in the Merchants’ Guild had _some_ things going for it, one of which was the occasional useful contact – in this case, a jeweler in Kirkwall.

> _To Aidan of House Vasca:_
> 
> _Hey Foofy,_
> 
> _I know it’s been a while since we last talked, hope you’ve been well. I have a little proposition for you, because I heard that the Coterie’s been taking advantage of the lingering issues in Kirkwall._
> 
> _I’m enclosing a bunch of descriptions and drawings for a ring. I need one made as close to what you see here as possible. I’ll be in Kirkwall in about eight weeks (I’m not sure exactly when, since it involves crossing the Waking Sea and that’s always unpredictable). You put this together for me, and I’ll cover your protection payments through the end of the year._
> 
> _That money is also for your silence. Nobody needs to know that I’ve commissioned this._
> 
> _I’ll let you know when I get to the correct side of all that water. Thanks in advance._
> 
> _Varric Tethras_

He entrusted the missive to Horizon, figuring that a spy disguised as a runner was likely to be the safest bet for a secret endeavor like this. Besides, she’d more or less earned his trust.

* * *

It was a little over two weeks later that Bethany, Varric, Dorian, and Bull found themselves at the base camp in the Forbidden Oasis. At the Inquisitor’s request, Cole had remained behind at Skyhold. “Did you want him to keep an eye on Curly’s departure or something, Sunshine?” Varric asked.

“Actually, I’m more worried about him being hurt here than anything,” she replied. “Scout Harding’s early reports about the place from when we established the forward camp were… unsettling. I reread them before we left, and she seemed to feel there was something not right about the door at the center of the action, that it gave her an extremely uncomfortable feeling.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what that means, but I didn’t want to subject Cole to any unnecessary pain. I can only do so much to protect him, but I can try.”

“Did you explain that to him?” It was Dorian’s turn for a question.

“Not exactly. I told him that I thought he might be able to help more people if he stayed in Skyhold – which isn’t entirely untrue,” she added, looking nevertheless a touch guilty. “There aren’t many people here, apart from the Venatori, so his abilities are almost wasted by bringing him to a place like this. I’m sure he’ll be happier where he can ease little hurts for the soldiers and scouts and others who need it.”

She was right about one thing, at least – there were almost no people in the Oasis apart from Venatori and Inquisition personnel, except for one young woman. She was some kind of scavenger, apparently, and their group was put through their paces recovering her wedding ring from a cave full of spiders. There were also a few more of those weird shards to collect, meaning that they didn’t have them all yet. “I vote that we satisfy ourselves with these,” said Dorian. “As much as we all adore you, Bethany, I refuse to leave here and come back again. This heat will be the death of me.”

“Maybe we should be traveling by night, like we did in the Hissing Wastes,” said Bull. “Though it’s got to be better down there.” He nodded at the part of the place which lent its name to the _Oasis_ half of the Forbidden Oasis; there was some remarkably brilliant water shining below the cliff on which they were standing.

“You’re right. Let’s figure out a way to get down,” said Bethany. “ _Carefully_. I mostly mean Varric when I say that.”

“Why me?” He thought he might know the answer, but he was curious to see what she’d say.

“Because I know how much you hate it when the ground is vertical.”

“There’s my Sunshine.”

* * *

The Oasis was quite unexpectedly beautiful. “Elfroot and spindleweed growing in the desert. There’s something you don’t see every day,” Dorian commented, nodding at the plants sprouting in the water. “I suppose this place does have a _few_ sights to recommend it.”

“You also don’t see a giant tromping around in the desert every day either,” said Bull, dryly. “Looks like these Venatori idiots didn’t learn anything from their fellows in the Emprise or the Approach. They dragged another one of these things out to the middle of nowhere to be starved into submission.”

“And unfortunately, the giant can’t be convinced that we mean it no harm,” Bethany noted with a sigh. “We have to kill it before it kills us, or marauds into one of our camps in search of food.”

When he wrote about the battle later, Varric decided, he would describe the group as killing the giant first, then using it to mop up the Venatori smears left on the stones. With these enemies dead, and their camp looted, the more heroic figures could take a better assessment of the door Scout Harding had found so unsettling.

“I understand what she was trying to describe,” said Bethany. “Something feels wrong here, and it’s worse the closer to the door we get.”

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Varric asked dubiously.

“There’s writing,” said Bull. “This place isn’t Vint at all, it’s elven. Listen. _Emma solas him var din'an. Tel garas solasan. Melana en athim las enaste._ ” The ancient words were rough on his tongue. “I have no idea if I said any of that right.”

Bethany studied the inscription thoughtfully. “This is odd carving,” she said. “It’s so shaky, like it was hard for whoever did it. Well, I know that _enaste_ means ‘favor.’ After we visited the Temple of Mythal, Solas told me that one of the ancient elves had said _Mythal’enaste_ to us, and that it meant ‘Mythal’s favor.’ It was a blessing. And he also told us that _din’an_ means ‘end,’ like Din’an Hanin in the Emerald Graves.”

“His name is on there too,” Bull added. “It was the only word that I recognized.”

“Let’s copy this down and see if someone back at Skyhold can translate for us,” the Inquisitor proposed. “Varric, do you have anything in your gear for writing?”

“Sunshine, think about who you’re asking.”

“Right, silly question.” She chuckled. “We’ll leave it to the expert, then.”

With the ancient inscription dutifully copied and stowed in Varric’s pack, they turned their attention to the door. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Varric admitted. “It’s like it has a key broken up into a bunch of pieces or something.”

“We’ve seen its like before,” said Dorian, glancing at Bethany. She nodded. “On our excursion to the future all those months ago – Alexius sealed himself behind a door very much like this. I never did understand where he got it or how he got it to Redcliffe, but it seems that such doors are something my people learned from the ancient elves.” He looked a little broody, maybe remembering what Abelas had told them all about Tevinter picking over the carcass of Elvhenan, and gave himself a little shake. “You know,” he continued in a more jovial tone, “in ancient Tevinter, they called this place _Vina Haladus_. It means ‘the downy hairs upon your ass.’”

They all sort of stared at him for a minute. “I honestly can’t tell whether or not you’re joking,” Bethany finally admitted.

“And I shall never reveal the truth,” he replied with a smirk.

* * *

Six of the shards allowed them to open the main door, and once inside, Varric was surprised by the silence. He hadn’t expected it to be noisy, of course, but it was honestly a sort of peaceful silence rather than a foreboding one. “That strange feeling by the door is gone,” Bethany remarked.

“Likely it’s an enchantment designed to keep people out,” Dorian explained. “A warning, or possibly a test.”

They followed the corridor, the only sounds their own echoing footsteps, to another door. This one was completely different from the first; there were no slots to insert shards, only a sequence of darkened spaces carved above it. “I have a feeling,” said Bethany, “that this will make more sense on our way out of this place. Let’s see what’s downstairs.”

On either side of this door was a staircase leading down to a sublevel. There was veilfire here, and Dorian took a torch and began examining the walls. “More elven writing,” he reported from one corner. “Varric, come and write this down too. It gives me a curious image – or it did, it’s fading now – but I got the impression of figures kneeling in meditation. How peculiar.”

Set into the wall opposite the staircases were three more doors. One emanated red and gave the impression of fire; one had a blue tint and seemed to be sealed with frost; and one was covered in vines and had a sort of earthy smell coming from behind it. “Let me guess,” said Bull. “We have to unlock all of them and deal with whatever demon arseholes are behind them.”

“What makes you think it’s demons?” asked Bethany, smiling slightly.

“It’s _always_ demons.”

“Well, let’s start with this one and see what happens.” She nodded at the vine-encrusted door. They plugged it with shards and made their way into a room where several corpses sprang into shambling action. “All right, you called it, Bull.”

Once these were handled (not hard), they could see a second shard-locked door beyond what looked like an ancient sarcophagus. “We’re not going to open that, are we?” Varric asked.

“Maybe we could just nudge the lid to one side?” Dorian offered. “Get a hint of what might be expected?”

“I’ll do it,” grunted Bull. He grasped one corner of the lid and shifted it a few inches, which turned out to be just far enough to allow a series of green wisps of light escape from inside. These immediately took aim at Bethany, striking her like tiny arrows, and she gasped.

“Are you all right?” Varric demanded at once. She _looked_ healthy enough, but that didn’t always mean anything.

“I think so,” she said, pausing as though considering the question. “I feel fine… but I have no idea what just happened.”

“It went straight to you,” said Dorian. “Or to the mark, perhaps? Doesn't seem to have harmed you.”

“If it wasn’t a trap, then what do you suppose it was?”

“Well, if that enchantment at the door _was_ a test as I suspect, this may be the reward.”

* * *

Each of the three doors – the ivy, the frost, and the fire – led into a series of three such chambers, filled with corpses and also with long-forgotten piles of coins and chests of other loot. The venture was profitable, at least, but Varric worried about Bethany. Each of the nine chambers had a sarcophagus-box-whatever, and opening each of these seemed to bestow more and more of a reward on her, although he was at a loss to understand what the reward _was_. In the last chamber of each collection, they had to face off with a sort of final guardian – an arcane horror, a revenant, and (unsurprising in the fire chambers) a rage demon. “And that's it for the shards,” said Bull. “But what about that door we couldn’t touch upstairs?”

“Good question. Let’s take a bit of a breather back up there, and then we’ll see what it holds,” Bethany replied.

Sure enough, when they trooped back up the stairs, they found that the door in question had opened. The darkened carvings above the frame were lighted now, and they could see that there were nine of them. “It looks,” said Dorian, “like we unlocked a part of this door each time we entered one of the rooms down below. Once we entered that final chamber, it must have unsealed this. Whatever the great treasure of this temple is, it must be inside.”

“And that must be what the Venatori were hoping to get,” said Bull. “My guess is they didn’t know anything about the shards, so I bet they were trying to train that giant to break into the place. But the magic was too unfamiliar to them, they couldn’t get past the front door even with brute force.”

“Weird,” Varric grunted.

“I’m with you.”

“Everybody drink a health potion,” Bethany scolded them lightly. “Whatever is in here, I want us as recovered from the other fights as much as we can be before we face it.”

This turned out to be wiser than they could have expected. Beyond the open door lay a single chamber, again with a sarcophagus-box, and this time their chief adversary was a pride demon. But after so many battles in more than a year’s time, and after facing dragons and Sha-Brytol and a mangled darkspawn from the dawn of recorded time, a pride demon wasn’t as difficult as it would once have been. Bethany claimed one last reward – this time the lights were purple – and they made their way back out into the Oasis.

“How long do you think we were in there?” Dorian wondered. The sun had set while they were engaged in battle, and they could just barely make out the campfire of the nearest Inquisition camp.

“If we’re going by how long it feels, about a week,” said Varric. “In reality? Probably a little over a day.”

“The answer you’re looking for is ‘too long,’” said Bull. “Let’s get back to camp and get something to eat.”


	37. There's My Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, FINALLY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how long I've had the back half of this chapter sitting in my document, waiting to be connected to the rest of the story. I just wasn't sure when it would be right.
> 
> Thanks to AuroraBorealia for her feedback on Cole's dialogue!

It amused Varric to see how pleased Bethany appeared when they returned to Skyhold and received word that Curly and his _inamorata_ , as Dorian liked to call her, had left a few days prior. “I’m just happy that they’ll finally get some time together without everyone watching them – including us,” she admitted to him privately. “They deserve that.”

“Curly’s grown on you.”

“I suppose he has, at that. He’s not a bad person, he’s a good person who made some bad decisions. If he were a bad person, he wouldn’t regret them.” She shrugged. “Show me any of us who don’t feel that way at least a little.”

“You have things to regret?” He was more amused than surprised.

“I’m not a paragon, Varric, despite whatever story you’ve sold to the rest of the world,” she retorted, but she was smiling.

“Probably for the best. Orzammar would revolt if they gave that title to a human,” he teased.

* * *

Preparations were underway for their own voyage. Varric felt almost strange packing up his room at Skyhold. The place was not home, would never be home – but it had been a reasonable substitute for many months now, and he was fond of it in his way.

He’d take some good memories with him when he went. It was where he watched Bethany grow into the mantle of the Inquisitor, and where he’d taught her to dance. He’d made friends within the castle walls, written stories, learned a few things. He’d come to terms with his broken romance. And it was the last place where he’d been able to really enjoy the company of his best friend.

“He misses you too,” said Cole.

Varric glanced at his bed, where the spirit-boy had perched himself on the neatly folded quilt. “Who does, Kid?”

“The hawks flew away, but they still remember, the way a real hawk remembers how to fly home to its nest. He would come back if he could.” The pale eyes weren’t sad, merely contemplative.

“Can you… can you _hear_ him?” It had never occurred to Varric that Cole might be able to do any such thing.

“Not the way I can hear you. Your hurt touches his,” Cole explained. “But I can only follow the thread so far before it fades. Faint, failing, lost amid the pulsing pain.”

“Yeah.” Varric sighed. “Do me a favor and don’t mention any of that to the Inquisitor, all right?” He didn’t know what was worse, honestly – the idea that Hawke was dead, or the idea that he was in the Fade and _still alive_ (or whatever it could be called).

“Sunshine, serene, settling into the after-days with her sorrow.” He nodded. “Some things cannot heal, and she blinds me if I try to look into her pain. But she has you and Dorian to love her even if all others are gone.”

“This is true.” The dwarf forced a smile. “And I’m sure Kirkwall will do her some good too. Are you looking forward to the trip?”

Cole shook his head. “You will go, but I will stay. You need Kirkwall, and Kirkwall needs you, but I am needed here. Little hurts to heal, sufferings to cease. I can help the Inquisition.”

“I don’t know, Kid, there’s still a lot of pain in Kirkwall. You might be able to change that for us.”

“Too _much_ pain. It’s too big for me,” he explained. “Compassion can sew up sorrow with a silver thread, but Kirkwall needs more than I can give it. The people must heal the city, and then the city will heal the people in return.”

“I’m sure they’re trying.” Varric looked at the shirt in his hands. “Maybe I can help them move things along.”

“You can try. You love Kirkwall like you love everything else,” said Cole, thoughtfully. “Too fierce, too firm, more heart than whole. A man hangs by his ankles and the fire roars in the hearth. White stones burn beneath my boots on a hot summer’s day. The city seethes and smolders but it’s home.”

“That it is. Well, we’ll miss you, if you stay here. But I think Bethany’s coming back before too long.” It did not improve his mood to consider that.

“She may be here but her heart will be elsewhere.” Cole’s expression was serene as he winked out of sight.

* * *

It was endearing to see how genuinely emotional Josephine was at their departure. Leliana hid her feelings better – she had more practice, Varric suspected – but Ruffles didn’t bother to try. “You will come back, yes?”

“I will, at least,” said Bethany. She gestured to Bull and Dorian, who stood waiting with the Chargers. “This lot has other work to do. I’ll send word when we reach Kirkwall, and keep you informed about my travel plans.”

“And when I finish the Orlesian thriller, I’ll send you one of the first copies,” Varric promised. “I’ll send two, actually, in case the Seeker turns up sooner than we expect – I know she’ll want her own.”

The party was escorted to Crestwood by a contingent of Inquisition soldiers, who were basically forming an honor guard. They spent the night in Caer Bronach, where Bethany was introduced to the new mayor of the little community; in the morning, they completed the journey to the coast where they could board the ship. The longer it took, the more impatient Varric found himself to be gone. His city was waiting for him, and so, he hoped, was the ring.

“It’s not the same,” he remarked, standing on the deck of the _Amaranthine Dawn_ and watching the sailors load the final supplies into the bowels of the ship. “When I came here, Curly and Nightingale and the Seeker were all with me. Curly has the worst case of claustrophobia I’ve ever seen and spent most of his time up here on deck, so he was more or less forced to put up with my companionship. Feels a bit strange to not have him here now.”

“I’m sure he’d be touched that you miss him,” said Dorian, somewhat dryly. “Though I suspect, and I don’t mean anything offensive when I say this – I very much doubt he’s giving you any thought at all just now. Or me, or any of us.”

Varric chortled. “No, I’m sure he’s not. He’s got other things on his mind. Sunshine thinks he’s going to have a chat with his girlfriend’s father while they’re in Ostwick.”

“Yes, I came to a similar conclusion. Good man, I hope it goes well.”

“Me too, and not just because I need details to wrap up the romantic subplot in my book.”

“You could always base it on your own romance in progress.” Dorian smirked at him. “Any new developments I haven’t heard?”

“Possibly. But you’re asking me to give you an edge in the betting pool and that hardly seems fair.” Varric returned the smirk.

“Suppose I cut you in?”

“Well, now you’re talking.” They were interrupted, however, by some shouting from the assorted crew members. “Oh, looks like we’re getting ready to shove off. It’ll have to wait until I’m reasonably sure we won’t be overheard.”

“I’ll try to contain my impatience, but don’t keep me waiting too terribly long, yes? Or her, for that matter.”

* * *

The bulk of the voyage, for Varric, was spent either playing cards with his friends, working on one of his manuscripts, or trying to figure out just how in the Maker’s name he was ever going to bring up the matter of the ring to Bethany. He didn’t even have it yet and he felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. Briefly he considered just getting the whole proposal over and done by using the Tethras signet ring as a placeholder, but the damn thing was so clunky and ugly (at least in his opinion) that it didn’t deserve to sit on her hand even temporarily.

It came as a relief to hear that land was sighted, and he eagerly pushed his way up to the deck to catch sight of Kirkwall harbor. The sun was gleaming on the ancient statues, “The Twins,” who guarded the waters. There was still a gaping hole in the landscape where the Chantry ought to have been, and more buildings than he cared to count still exhibited signs of damage from the explosion, or the fires, or whatever other disasters had wandered through the streets at any given point. The closer they got, the less beautiful it would become. But from a distance, it seemed like a shining city.

Besides, it was home. A bit of a shithole, to use Dorian’s words, but home all the same.

“Well, Sunshine, what do we do first?” he asked, sensing rather than seeing her move to his side.

“Once we’re off the ship, I imagine the most sensible thing to do is to head for the Hanged Man,” she replied, leaning against the rail. “We can send a message to Aveline from there, and she can give me an idea of what the situation is regarding the estate. Since there’s still no Viscount, I’m not sure whom to petition to have it returned to me – Seneschal Bran, probably. That should be fun, he’s ever so fond of my family.” He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“You could always commandeer it as an Inquisition outpost,” he offered, only half kidding.

“If I get desperate, I’ll write to Josephine,” she agreed. “I’m not sure exactly how, but I’m fairly certain she would find a way to have Bran practically begging me to take the house back.”

“Assuming all goes well, you’ll be settling into the old homestead?”

“Temporarily, anyway. I’m sure Dorian would be happier there than in the Hanged Man – you know how he relishes his creature comforts. Bull and his boys will probably prefer to stay with you, though.” She glanced at him. “Are you glad to be home?”

“I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet,” Varric admitted. “But when it does, I will be. I missed this disaster area.”

“I know. We’ll need to talk about that,” she added. “Not yet, though. Let’s worry about getting ourselves settled first.”

As it turned out, sending word to Aveline was entirely unnecessary. She was on the pier, with a small compliment of her guards, waiting to provide a formal escort to the Inquisitor. “Oh, dear,” Bethany muttered, watching them salute as she descended the gangplank. “So much for keeping a low profile.”

“Sorry for the fuss, Bethany,” said Aveline warmly, stepping forward to greet them. “Your ambassador sent a letter ahead of you – she seemed to feel this was necessary.”

“That explains a lot. It’s all right, Aveline.” Smiling, Bethany shook her head and made the assorted introductions. “We’re just going to the Hanged Man to start, and you can fill us in on everything we need to know about things here.”

“That seems like a solid plan. Maker, it’s good to see you.” The guard-captain glanced at Varric, and her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Both of you.”

“Likewise, Aveline,” Varric replied. “How’s Donnic?”

“You’ll see him for yourself later. He presumed you’d want to have at least a hand or two of cards while you’re in town, so he’ll be dropping by the Hanged Man after his shift.”

* * *

It took a few days for them to really get settled. Varric’s rooms were just as he’d left them, albeit with a few more dust bunnies than he remembered, and it wasn’t too hard to persuade Corff to find lodging for the Bull’s Chargers. Their reputation preceded them, at least nominally. It was more difficult to carve some space for themselves; half of Kirkwall seemed to want to have a look at the Champion’s sister, who’d left them as a Gallows survivor and was now returning as the savior of the continent.

Negotiating with Bran for the Hawke/Amell property wasn’t too difficult, Bethany reported. After all, with a member of the family once again in residence, taxes could be properly collected again, and Kirkwall’s financial situation was of the sort that needed all the help it could get. “He’s not _happy_ , don’t misunderstand me,” she added dryly, as they collected around the estate’s dining room table for the first time in years. “Nothing connected to the name of Hawke could ever make Bran _happy_.”

“But he’s not stupid enough to antagonize a woman who literally has her own private army,” Varric replied, pouring wine for everyone. “Faced with the choice of giving you back your grandparents’ house or risking you annexing the entire city-state, it probably wasn’t a difficult decision.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him; he’s doing the best he can. He doesn’t want to be Viscount. But he’s just never been pleasant, not really, so it’s difficult to like him or to even want to like him.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “Not everyone deserves to bask in the Sunshine, after all.”

“Oh, you.”

With Dorian and the dog both at the house to keep her occupied, Varric was able to go and collect the ring the next day without Bethany being aware of it. Foofy (he had dubbed her that due to her exceptionally fluffy hairstyle) had done justice to the drawings and descriptions Ruffles had provided; it wasn’t a flawless replica of the ring Leandra had once worn, but it was close enough for the purpose.

He still hadn’t figured out how to discuss it with her, though.

It didn’t help anything that they had an audience more often than not. Whether it was a card game with some of the guards, or Hanged Man patrons wanting stories about the dragon fights, or random assorted nobles paying social calls to the Lady Inquisitor’s estate to offer their politely snooty welcomes, finding any time to be alone with Bethany was next to impossible. He was seriously starting to consider climbing in through her bedroom window while she was asleep, just to be able to have the conversation without anyone listening.

This ended up not being necessary, which was a relief since Varric was pretty sure he was not even slightly good at climbing. About a week after she was formally restored to her ancestral family property, Bethany came to the Hanged Man. “Could we talk, Varric? Alone, I mean?”

“I was starting to think I needed to make an appointment to see you, Sunshine,” he teased her. “Come on, we’ll go upstairs.”

* * *

They settled themselves at the table beside Varric’s fireplace, and Edwina wandered in with a pair of glasses for them. After she left, Varric got up and locked the door. “Does that make you uncomfortable? I’ll unlock it if you’d rather,” he added, glancing at Bethany. “I just get tired of that guy who never shuts up wandering in here whenever he pleases.”

“It’s fine.” She smiled at the description. “Listen, I wanted to discuss plans with you.”

“You’ve got my full attention, Sunshine. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything sooner, because I know how happy you are to be back here,” she began. “But we’ve gotten reports of lingering rifts on this side of the Waking Sea, and you know I’m the only one who can deal with them.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “And you want to get that done?”

“Yes, I need to make a bit of a tour of the Marches,” she replied. “The good news is that the farther we get from where the Breach originated, the fewer rifts there are, so it shouldn’t take very long for me to sew up the ones which remain. But I don’t want to pull you away from Kirkwall again so soon. I want you to stay here.”

“Well, I’m sure Choirboy would love to have you drop in on Starkhaven while you’re in the neighborhood,” Varric noted, choking down a small stab of jealousy. “You’re not going alone, though, right?”

“Bull and Dorian will travel with me for a spell yet,” she assured him. “With them and the Chargers, I should be able to put down anything that comes tumbling out of a rift.”

“Are you _sure_ you don’t need me?” Andraste’s ass, that sounded way more emotional than he intended.

Sunshine chuckled fondly. “Always. But you’ve been away from Kirkwall for too long, you deserve to stay here and relax a little. You kept your promise – you stayed with me until Corypheus was defeated and then some.”

“I know. You’ll… you’ll be going back to Skyhold after that, right?”

She nodded. “For a while, yeah. Kirkwall’s always going to be home, but apparently there are still a lot of things demanding my attention.” She blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and added, “Maker only knows why.”

“You’ll be gone for a long time.” Varric liked hearing her say it even less than he liked thinking about it. He tried to keep his tone jovial for her sake, however. “What am I going to do if I’m not keeping an eye on you?”

“Well, you have the Orlesian thriller to wrap up, plus that book you were talking about writing about the Inquisition,” she reminded him. “I’ll send you information for the epilogue.”

“Been thinking about that.” _Now or never_ , he thought, before she could potentially walk out of the Hanged Man forever. “I came up with a great idea for a plot twist, actually, but I would need help to make it work.”

Her topaz eyes glinted. “Really? What did you have in mind?”

“I’m picturing the heroine embroiled in a long-distance romance. Passion, pining, the whole works, but confined to the written word as she exchanges letters with her beloved across the miles.”

“That’s strangely beautiful,” Bethany mused. “I’m not sure how it fits into your plot for the Vivienne story, but I love the idea.”

“Oh, no, Sunshine,” he corrected her. His tongue felt dry and he hadn’t known butterflies like these in years… this was about to either blow up in his face or go horribly right, and he couldn’t guess which. “I’m talking about the Inquisition book.”

“I – wait, _what_?”

“Well, if you ask the Seeker, the one thing that’s really missing from the Inquisitor Hawke story is a romantic subplot.” In spite of himself, Varric couldn’t help chuckling a little, imagining how Cassandra might react if she could witness this. “So I was wondering how you’d feel about adding one.”

Her eyes widened slowly. “You mean... Varric, are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

“I guess that depends on what you think I’m asking you.”

“Oh, no you don’t, you’re not turning this back around on me!” Bethany was apparently unable to stifle a giggle. “Words are your bread and butter, messere, so I suggest you use them.”

“And yet somehow they’re failing me at the moment.” They sometimes did, when it came to Sunshine, especially since the Frostback Basin. But he was feeling more confident now, emboldened by her giggle and the exquisite flush in her cheeks. “I’ll let this do the talking for me,” he continued, reaching for where her hands rested lightly on the tabletop. He remembered that she didn’t like to wear rings where they could potentially interfere with the Anchor, and so it was onto the ring finger of her right hand that he slipped the object which had been rattling around in his pocket for the past few days.

“This looks familiar,” she said slowly, examining the ring carefully.

“I know you’re pretty attached to that old betrothal portrait of your mother,” he explained. “So that’s the reason I waited this long – I got one of the jewelers in the Merchants’ Guild to make this, it’s supposed to look like the one she’s wearing in the picture.”

“I love it.” Bethany glanced up at him, and her lips twitched. “But are you really going to cheat me out of the question?”

Varric gave a slight, comical groan. “Are you going to make me get down on one knee? My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

She giggled. “No, we can skip that bit, but I do want the words.”

“Cut me some slack, Sunshine. Proposing to somebody like you is enough to make anybody nervous, even with an ego like mine.” Now that he was reasonably sure she was on board, however, he could feel himself relaxing. “All right. Bethany Leandra Hawke – savior of Thedas and sunshine of my life – will you help me figure out this happily ever after thing so I stop writing tragedies?”

She burst out laughing. “Not what I expected, but that was actually perfect, coming from you. Yes, I will.”

“I kind of thought you might, but it’s good to know for sure.”

Varric could only assume that the expression which wandered across his features was altogether irresistible, since that was the most logical explanation for the kiss which suddenly followed. Bethany seized his slightly battered face in her slender hands and leaned in to seal the deal, a gesture which left him completely dazed and more than a little breathless. She tasted like honey mead on a summer’s day. “Oh. Uh.”

“Words failing you again?” she teased.

“You could say that. Maker’s breath, Sunshine, I’m an old man, go easy on me.” He laughed weakly; it had been years since he’d been kissed so intently. “It’s going to take me a little while to get used to that.”

“I guess that means we’re going to have to practice.”

“A new research project, hm?” he teased, drinking in the sight of her impudent smirk and answering it with one of his own.

“I think I can guarantee you’ll enjoy this more than reading about Orlesian fashions,” came the mischievous reply, and she kissed him again. He was ready for it this time, and finally allowed himself to discover just how perfectly she fit when curled into his arms.

* * *

Later (although to be honest, he wasn’t sure just how _much_ later it was), Bethany decided they needed to sort out the details for the actual wedding. “I’d rather we have it sooner than later,” she said, “because – if you’ll forgive the observation – I think I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“No objections here. We can do it tomorrow if you want.”

“That hardly gives anyone enough time to be told about it,” she protested mildly, smiling. “It doesn’t even give me enough time to find a nice burlap sack to wear.”

Varric laughed. “All right, so what are you thinking?”

“Well, I could go with the others to Cumberland, as it’s not that far, to deal with a couple of rifts there,” she said. “It would take around three weeks to travel there and back, assuming we encountered nothing unexpected, and that would give Isabela time to get a letter from us and maybe put into port.”

“It would be good if she could make it. Aveline and Donnic are already here. I think the elf went to Starkhaven, but I’m not completely sure,” he mused, toying with her hair almost unthinkingly. “Daisy will come if she can, I know that. And Tiny and Sparkler are already on hand, all we have to do is ask them to stick around until it’s over.”

“We’ll keep it small. Shame the others from the Inquisition can’t be invited, but I don’t know how to find some of them.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and looked at the ring again. “Thank you for this. For all of it.”

“Thank _you_ , Sunshine,” he replied. “You’ve given everything for this ungrateful trash fire of a world. Anything I can give you, you more than deserve.”

“I have my dwarf. That’s all I want.”

“Convenient. He’s all yours.”


	38. I Heard the Wedding Was Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin. Well, the first half, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to lucyrne (the ungenue), who helped me cook up cousin Vidar's wedding gift several months ago and probably doesn't even remember doing it. Also thanks to the members of "Writers of Thedas," who encouraged me to do what happens in this and the next chapter.
> 
> Just for funsies, Revered Mother Cressida is named after Cressida Cowell, the author of the "How to Train Your Dragon" books.
> 
> Hold onto your hats.

Varric knew that the following morning, Sunshine and Sparkler would have a marathon gossip session over breakfast. He could hardly expect less – Dorian would want all the details which the dwarf had not provided, would want to gush approvingly over the ring, would want to tease Bethany about how late she had returned from her visit to Varric’s rooms. (It was only fair. She had gotten back to the estate at an almost scandalous hour.)

He was pretty sure that one or both of them would come to the Hanged Man at some point in the afternoon, at which point Tiny would be brought in on the whole thing. Where the hulking brute was at the moment, Varric wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t steal his Inquisitor’s thunder. Instead, he settled down with a late breakfast and composed a letter to Maevaris.

> _By the time this reaches you, the Tethras family either will have increased by one or will be on the verge of doing so. I’m sure you’ll have a letter from Dorian before too much longer, so you can both do all sorts of gloating about how you’ve known for ages. Yes, you’re very clever._
> 
> _It’s a strange feeling and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. I’m not often happy to such a degree; I’m a little suspicious, to tell you the truth. Not of Bethany, of course, but just of happiness in general. I’ve written too many tragedies to be otherwise. But she’s going to help me figure out how happily ever after works (that was actually how I posed the question) and maybe it’ll stick._
> 
> _It’s good to be back in Kirkwall. I’m mostly only disappointed that our beloved Inquisitor isn’t staying – she’s still got work to do here and there, and she’s insisting that I remain here and “rest,” whatever that means. I get what she’s saying, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Of course, the courtship wasn’t exactly traditional, so I guess it makes sense that the marriage wouldn’t be either._
> 
> _I’m sure Dorian will have some sparkling commentary to make about whether or not I can function with her gone, and I will want to argue but it honestly should be interesting to see if I can. In a real sense, my entire world for the past year and change has revolved around making sure she’s keeping herself safe and sane, and I won’t be able to personally superintend that from here. I’m going to need some new hobbies._

Varric refrained from writing to Josephine about the development, though he was tempted. However, he did need to inform cousin Vidar that the house was getting a human addition; for that, he’d need to arrange the actual ceremony so he could send an invitation. This necessitated a walk to Hightown, a visit to the Chantry-in-progress, and a quiet cash donation in exchange for retaining the services of a revered mother on a Tuesday afternoon in four weeks’ time.

And since he was in Hightown anyway, it was hardly a difficult matter to walk across the square afterward to the old Amell place.

* * *

It had been a long time since Varric had bothered with knocking at the front door when visiting the house. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he had done so; it had definitely been while Leandra was still alive, out of respect for the lady’s sensibilities, but Hawke himself had never really stood on ceremony and Varric was practically a member of the family.

Now, he realized, they were removing the word _practically_ from that phrase. He really would be part of Hawke’s family, even if Hawke wasn’t there to see it for himself. Well, better late than never, he supposed.

“Anybody home?” he called, opening the door.

“In here, Varric,” Bethany called back. She and Dorian were in the library, where Dane was napping in front of the fire. “Hello, you,” she continued when he joined them, moving over to kiss his cheek in greeting.

“Hm, I could get used to this,” he remarked, amused and pleased by the welcome. “Well, Sparkler, are you satisfied now? And when do I get my share of your ill-gotten gains?”

“It’ll be some little while before I can collect them for myself,” replied the Tevinter, “but I’ll make sure to send you a portion when I do. I can’t believe you kept the poor girl waiting all this time.”

“Hey, I wanted to do things right. Besides, we were a little busy.”

Bethany laughed. “That’s enough, you two. Dorian is very kindly giving the library an overhaul while he’s in town.”

“For a private library, I will allow that it’s not in terrible shape,” observed the rebellious heretic archivist. “It needs more organizing than anything. Oh, but I did find something that might interest you, Varric,” he continued, picking up a book from the table.

“Oh, no. Not _Hard in Hightown 2: Siege Harder_!” Varric took the book and stared at the cover in dismay. “Why, Hawke? Why would you buy this?”

“Why would you _write_ it?”

“I didn’t, Sparkler. This was a hatchet job by a plagiarist, didn’t Sunshine tell you about that?” Varric turned and chucked the book into the fire. “He’s in jail now. Arranged a murder based on the real _Hard in Hightown_. I was offended by the existence of the sequels, because they’re awful, but I was willing to let the matter lie until that happened. Murder isn’t something I can overlook.”

Dorian glanced at Bethany. “This is the man you choose to love?”

She shrugged. “You weren’t an option.”

“Ah. An excellent point.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” said Varric, mildly.

“Indeed you are. Which begs the question, what brings you here? Besides your ravishing fiancée, obviously, that’s a given.”

“I went to the Chantry to arrange the details – as requested – and since I was in this part of the city, I figured it made sense to come here rather than wait for you two to put in an appearance at the Hanged Man,” he explained. “We have a revered mother coming here on the 24th of Bloomingtide, which I trust will be enough time for you all to journey to Cumberland, get back here, and pick out a burlap sack.”

“ _Burlap sack_?” Dorian looked horrified.

“It’s an ongoing joke,” Bethany explained. “Varric once, many years ago, told me not to worry about my clothes because I could make a burlap sack look good.”

“Oh – well, that’s – all right then. That’s a bit better. Don’t scare me like that, I thought for a second that you were actually going to wear one on your wedding day and I absolutely cannot permit such a thing. Not that he’s wrong,” Sparkler added, “but still.”

“Not to worry,” Varric assured him. “I mean, _you’re_ here. I assumed that you were going to personally superintend the shopping trip.”

“Oh, I’d love that, Dorian,” said Sunshine happily. “You and I can figure it out together.”

“At least my talents are appreciated.” He smiled and shook his head. “Of course. I’m at your disposal, my dear Inquisitor.”

“Great, glad that’s settled,” said Varric. “Now, suppose you come back to the Hanged Man with me for lunch and we can break the news to Bull and his kids.”

“You haven’t told them yet?”

“I haven’t seen them yet. They weren’t in the taproom when I passed through it on my way out,” he explained. “I assumed they were still asleep, or possibly off intercepting Corff’s next delivery.”

* * *

By the time the dwarf and mages reached the tavern, Bull’s crew had assembled themselves around a corner table. Varric had never given any of them nicknames, except to sometimes quietly refer to the lieutenant as “Krem puff,” because Bull had beaten him to it and the nicknames he gave were on target.

“Boss!” Bull called cheerfully. “ _Kadan,_ Varric, come join us. Krem, get the lady a drink – it’s a special occasion, after all.”

“How do you know that?” Varric asked, taking a seat.

Bull smirked. “I might not be Ben-Hassrath anymore, but I’ve still got all my training. I’d be a pretty sorry spy if I didn’t notice the boss has new jewelry. It’s on the wrong hand for your culture, but since I know she never wears rings on the marked hand, that makes sense. So you finally did it, huh?”

“Last night,” Bethany replied sweetly. Varric covered his mouth with one gloved hand and snickered at the unintentional (or, possibly, _completely_ intentional) double entendre.

“ _Nice_.” Bull chuckled; the choice of wording clearly did not go over his head. Krem returned and presented Bethany with a mug; his cheeks weren’t as pink around her as they had once been, but – though this might have been Varric’s imagination – he still seemed a tiny bit chagrined at the recent developments. “You sure this is what you want, then, both of you?”

“I asked the same thing,” said Dorian, taking the seat next to Bull. “Go on, Bethany darling, tell him what you said to me.”

Sunshine giggled, and cleared her throat. “Ser, that is my emotional support dwarf,” she replied.

“I know you’re making a joke,” said Bull with a chuckle, “but let’s be real, that’s exactly what Varric’s job in the Inquisition is.”

“As I seem to recall telling someone else once upon a time,” Varric noted, pulling out a chair for his betrothed, “I am a valuable commodity in the organization. One of a kind, even. Which is why I’m not sold on staying here when you leave, madam.”

“And yet you’ll do it, because Kirkwall needs you,” she replied fondly. “Nobody loves this place like you do. You’re the perfect choice to put it back together, maybe get that horrid statue of Knight-Commander Meredith finally removed from the Gallows.”

“What?” Varric frowned, mock-distressed. “You want me to deprive the children of the chance to play ‘Who’s Brave Enough to Poke Meredith?’”

“They don’t actually _do_ that, do they?” asked Krem, baffled.

“No. No one’s brave enough to poke Meredith.”

* * *

Two days later, the Inquisitor and her little entourage were on their way to Cumberland; wedding invitations had been sent to Isabela, Sebastian, Fenris, Merrill, cousin Vidar, and a few of the Merchants’ Guild members whom it would be impolitic to snub; and Varric went to the guard barracks to personally deliver the remaining invitation. Sure, that one could have gone by post too, but that would have deprived him of the opportunity to watch Aveline’s facial expressions as he made her read the words with her own eyes.

In a swirly, fancy, probably Orlesian script, blue-black letters danced their way across a crisp sheet of starched linen.

_The pleasure of your company is requested_

_at the marriage ceremony of_

_Bethany Leandra Hawke_

_and_

_Varric Tethras_

_Please join us at the Hawke estate in Hightown_

_on Tuesday, the 24 th of Bloomingtide, at noon._

_Refreshments and music to follow the ceremony._

_(No, this is not a joke.)_

 

To be completely fair to the good captain, Varric had told her an awful lot of lies over the years, so her skepticism about the wedding invitation was probably fairly justified.

“Let me try to understand this,” she said finally, after going over the embossed piece of paper carefully and squinting at it like she was hunting for a hidden message. “You are getting married. You, the serial bachelor in love with his crossbow, are getting married. To the Inquisitor.” She paused. “All right, maybe it’s more plausible than I originally thought.”

“Really?” He chuckled. “I’m almost afraid to ask why.”

“Simple.” The guard-captain smirked. “If I were asked to name one single woman in the entire Free Marches – and possibly all of Thedas – who would be able to put up with _your_ antics for the rest of her life, Bethany Hawke is the only candidate I could even begin to suggest.”

“I might acknowledge some justice in that comment.”

“My next question is, when did this happen?”

“If you’re talking about the actual proposal, that was a few days ago, before she left for Cumberland,” he replied. “We just wanted to do the whole engraved invitation thing – she felt like it was something Leandra would have wanted. But if you’re talking about the courtship, that was apparently happening for a few months before I realized it.”

Aveline laughed. “You’re not serious.”

“I am being almost uncharacteristically serious. You might want to note it in your diary. In fact, if our Tevinter friend is to be believed, the entire Inquisition had a betting pool going about when I would finally figure the whole thing out.”

“All right, that part I can believe.”

“I could regale you with the details of the courtship that wasn’t, but somehow I think you’ll prefer Sunshine’s version of events.” He shrugged. “Far be it from me to deny either of you a proper gossiping session, after all.”

“You’re all heart.” Aveline chuckled and looked at the paper again. “Shame they haven’t got the new Chantry finished for this. But the great room at Hawke’s mansion should serve the purpose nicely.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d approve, since it’s where you and Donnic tied the knot yourselves.”

She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was gentler. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? Doing this without them?”

“You have no idea. Well, no, _you_ probably have _some_ idea,” he amended. “It really does.”

“I’ll wager this would have shocked them, but I think they’d be pleased on the whole. Hawke especially.”

“I hope so, Aveline,” Varric replied, grateful. “I really hope so.”

* * *

Varric’s attendance at weddings - human or otherwise - was not a common thing. He’d been there when Aveline married Donnic; he’d planned to attend when his cousin Thorold married Maevaris, but that had unfortunately never come to fruition. The only other time he’d been at a wedding in the last two decades or so was the one that didn’t happen. It had taken him a long time to put that one out of his mind. At least this time, he was pretty certain the bride would show up.

(Apart from anything else, it was happening in her house; if she _didn’t_ put in an appearance, it would look more than a little strange.)

By the time Bethany and company returned from their jaunt around Cumberland, Varric was able to confirm at least most of their wedding guest list. Aveline and Donnic would be there; Merrill turned up in time to receive the invitation and was only too willing to come. Dorian, Bull, and the Chargers would be on hand, though summoning the rest of the Inquisition was nigh impossible. That there was no response from Fenris didn’t come as a surprise –  the messenger might not even have found him yet – but that there was none from Rivaini did. Varric was certain she would have wanted to be there, if only to laugh or to tease Bethany about unrestricted access to the chest hair. He could only assume that she was too far out to sea to have gotten the message in time. To his relief, Sebastian was unwilling to leave Starkhaven for the occasion, though the letter he sent in response was filled with delighted commentary and invocations of the Maker’s blessings. It could have been worse.

Cousin Vidar sent his regrets and a thoughtful gift in the form of the sigil of House Tethras, mounted in the same manner as the Amell/Hawke sigil, so that they could be displayed side by side in the mansion vestibule. “The Hawke sigil needs to stay by the entrance out front,” Varric told Bethany, surrendering the present, “but if you don’t mind putting this next to yours in the vestibule, that should look pretty good.”

“It’s lovely.” She studied it. “So this is the family emblem, then? I could never quite make out the shapes on your ring, it’s so small.”

“You’d have to know dwarven writing to really understand it,” he explained. “Remember our adventure in the Vimmarks, how we tracked down the remains of Tethras Garen and I told you how we were connected? The family renamed themselves after him, so the sigil is made up of the letters T and G in old dwarven script, plus these conjoined links to represent a chain. Chained to the past, if you ask me, but history is history.”

“Well, it’s _your_ history. That means it’s important.”

“I’m not about to argue. How did everything go in Cumberland, meanwhile? Turns out Kirkwall is a bit more desolate in your absence than I remembered.”

“Oh, you.” She chuckled. “It was actually quite anticlimactic. Two rifts, easily dispelled, and a refreshing lack of other local disasters that required me to do any cleanup.”

“Figures. The one time I don’t go along, it’s an easy mission.” He smiled, however. “Come and have something to eat before you get some sleep. Big day coming soon.”

“Yes, Dorian and I have a shopping trip planned for tomorrow. I hope the burlap sack I choose meets with your approval,” she teased, allowing herself to be steered to where some hot soup was waiting. “Did you decide what you’re wearing?”

“I don’t think it matters all that much, since I’m going to be standing next to you and nobody’s going to be looking at me anyway, but I managed to get a new silk shirt. You know, I wore out more of my wardrobe running around with the Inquisition than I realized,” he remarked. “Good cause and all, but not healthy for fine garments.”

Bethany giggled. “Nobody told you that you had to wear silk shirts in the wilderness. In fact, I’m almost positive that I urged you to do the exact opposite.”

“And eventually I did. But you might recall, madam, that in the earliest days of your illustrious organization, there wasn’t much spare budget to be had, so I was trying not to strain the coffers more than necessary.”

“Oh, so it was purely magnanimity on your part?”

“That and a distaste for hiding the chest hair.”

“Naturally.”

* * *

The wedding was set for midday on a Tuesday, to be immediately followed by a luncheon courtesy of the Merchants’ Guild, which forced Varric to finally acknowledge once and for all that they weren’t _completely_ useless. The guests who weren’t staying at the Hawke mansion, trickled in shortly before the appointed hour. Apart from Dorian, Bull, the Chargers, and the members of the old Kirkwall gang, these were chiefly composed of a few guardsmen who accompanied their captain, a few members of the guild (whom Varric suspected were just there to see for themselves that this was really happening), and one mildly confused elderly nobleman who might actually have been at the wrong address, but nobody had the heart to tell him.

“I wasn’t really holding out much hope that Nightingale would show up to perform the ceremony for us,” Varric told Dorian, as they waited for things to get started. “But it certainly wouldn’t have hurt my ego if she had.”

“Your ego hardly needs any additional grooming,” Sparkler replied.

“What’s that expression? Pot, kettle, black?”

“You’re not wrong, but that’s hardly the point.” The mustache twitched with the effort to suppress a smile. “You’re already marrying the Inquisitor herself - having the ceremony performed by the newly elected Divine would have been gilding the lily.”

“‘Tis true, ‘tis true. Still, it’d be nice to see her.”

“Well, I won’t argue with that.” Dorian glanced at the door. “Ah, I believe this is the Chantry officiant now,” he said, nodding to where a formally-robed cleric had entered the room and was speaking to Aveline. “All we need is the arrival of your blushing bride and the festivities can commence. I do hope you’ve ordered some decent inebriants for the celebration afterward.”

“Corff at the Hanged Man sent an array of interesting vintages as a wedding gift. I leave it to the drinker to determine whether they’re decent.” Varric shrugged. “If all else fails, there are some casks of fairly good wine in the upstairs portion of the library.”

“We’ll make do. Far be it from me to criticize your day.”

The cleric approached Varric, then, so Dorian sidled away. “Master Tethras, my felicitations. I am Revered Mother Cressida, and I’ll be performing your marriage rites today.”

“Pleased to meet you. We’re just waiting on the Inquisitor.”

“The – oh, yes, of course. Well.” The young Mother looked a bit flustered. “I see you have arranged chairs here, so I’ll just have you and Her Worship stand in front of the fireplace. It’s – it’s not a very long service.”

“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” Varric assured her.

She studied him for a few seconds, and then smiled. “I think I’m more nervous than you are.”

“Probably. I don’t get nervous very often.”

Mother Cressida started to say something else, but her gaze flicked to the staircase. “And here she is, if I’m not mistaken, so if everyone can please be seated, we’ll get started.”

Varric turned, and felt a smile crawl over his features. Bethany had followed Merrill down the stairs – she’d evidently recruited Daisy to help her dress – and was moving to join him where he stood. The ‘burlap sack’ was a simple ivory gown, cinched at the waist, with tiny gold sun emblems embroidered on the skirt. The dress had long sleeves and a sweeping skirt that made her look more like she was floating than walking; the wide low collar exposed an antique pendant which had once belonged to her mother. Her shining hair loosely framed her face, adorned with a delicate crown of royal elfroot leaves interspersed with little white flowers. She had a bouquet of crystal grace clutched in one hand, and her face was pink and pleased as she glanced around the room, exchanging smiles with those who had gathered. As she turned to Varric, her lips scrunched in a mischievous grin. “Ready?” she asked.

“You might not have noticed it yet, Sunshine, but I’m sort of yours to direct,” he replied. “If _you’re_ ready, _I’m_ certainly not going to stall.” Vaguely he was thinking how she was a vision that would dwell in the back of his mind forever, and wondering if he knew an artist who could even come close to adequately capturing her.

“Sweet talker.” She handed the flowers to a beaming Merrill, who went to sit beside Aveline, and placed her hands in his. “Let’s get started, then.”

The first part of the wedding was fairly standard, to the point where Varric found himself not paying strictest attention. Marriage was the holy gift of the Maker and His Bride, blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera. Almost abruptly, however, Mother Cressida was addressing him. “Will you speak your vow, messere?”

“Vow. Right. How’s that go? I swear to the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman for the rest of my days. Does that sound right?” He winked at Bethany, who giggled.

“Very good.” Mother Cressida was forcibly composed, lips twitching with an effort not to smile. “And you, Your Worship?”

“Oh, yes. I swear to the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this dwarf for the rest of my days.”

Laughter rippled through the room, and the Revered Mother couldn’t suppress her own amusement. “Close enough,” she said. “Well –”

Before she could proceed, however, they heard the front door open and close, and a few seconds later, a grinning pirate appeared on the threshold of the room. “So sorry I’m late,” she said. Varric had a vague impression of movement _behind_ Isabela, but he couldn’t imagine what that might be. “I would have been here sooner, but it took me a little while to collect your wedding gift.”

Bethany glanced at Varric, who shrugged. “Isabela,” she said, “you look like the cat who swallowed the canary. What in the world have you been doing?”

Isabela didn’t get the chance to answer. Instead, a voice from the vestibule beyond her called, “Picking up some strays, and we are _not_ happy that we weren’t invited!”


	39. The One She Showed Up For, Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding, part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to those of you who guessed right. ;)
> 
> Of note - Bethany has a line in this chapter which mentions, among other things, Merrill stealing someone's griffon. Believe it or not, that entire line is a reference to a conversation I had on Twitter with Varric's (real) writer, Mary Kirby. We were talking about Varric's Hogwarts house... it made sense in context. Honest.

For a few seconds, there was pure silence in the room. Many of those present recognized the voice, or at least they thought they did. They knew the man who owned it.

They knew that man was dead.

Isabela, still smirking, stepped aside, and moved to casually lean against the fireplace. As Varric watched, a shadow emerged from the vestibule, filling the doorframe, and then the figure of his best friend stepped into the room. “Hey,” said Hawke cheerfully, “did you miss me?”

Not quite certain what to make of any of it, Varric carefully positioned himself in front of Bethany. If this was a demon, or something equally unfriendly, she was likely going to be its first target and he wasn’t about to let the thing get too close. He felt her hand on his shoulder; he could sense that she was shaking.

“Maybe they missed me instead,” said a second voice, and Carver came into the room as well. Both of the Hawke brothers looked gaunt and exhausted, which was probably a normal enough state for anyone who had been trapped in the Fade for an extended period of time. But they were smiling, something Varric had been certain he’d never see again in this life, and their expressions as they looked at the bride and groom were almost as incredulous as the ones on everyone else’s faces.

“Is this… is this real?” Bethany murmured.

Isabela, apparently deciding that the question was directed at her, lifted her hands in a small shrug. “I know, Sweetness, I had the same reaction. As far as I can tell, they’re the real thing - but I figured you would know better than anyone. And if they’re not, they’re probably no match for everyone in this room, so this seemed like the best place to bring them.”

“What do you think, Sunshine?” Varric asked her quietly. He wasn’t ready to drop his guard, but _damn_ did he want to believe.

“I’m not sure what to think.” Her voice was wobbly with the hope she had never entirely abandoned. “It… it _looks_ like them, but…”

“It’s really us, Bethany,” said Hawke in a warmer tone. “Ask us anything.”

“We have a few questions for you when you’re done,” Carver added.

Varric turned to look at Bethany, who shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t trust my own judgment,” she said, and her voice was choked and heartsick. “I want too badly to believe.”

“You and me both,” said Varric.

She started to say something else, then paused, glancing at the wedding guests. Half of them were on their feet, and a couple had weapons at the ready just in case; he could hear her give a miserable little hiccup. “Wait,” she said, lifting a hand. “I know what to do.” As Varric (and everyone else) watched her intently, she turned toward the stairs where she had made her entrance, took a deep breath, and sort of bellowed.

“ ** _Dane_** _!_ ”

It wasn’t until she called his name that Varric realized the mabari was not in evidence. But in response to the sound of her agitated summons, they heard a massive _thud_ as several hundred pounds of warhound leaped off of his mistress’s bed and landed sharply on the floor. A few seconds later, Dane came barreling down the stairs and skidded to a halt in front of Bethany. His head was down to the floor, his hindquarters elevated, a snarl dripping from his jaws as he bared his fangs at the newcomers.

Then Dane paused, and sniffed, and gave a puzzled sort of whine. He lifted his head curiously, tilting it one way and then the other, and sniffed again. With only a bark for a warning, he suddenly launched himself at Hawke, knocking him to the floor, and promptly began to wash his face. The bearded rogue laughed, flailing a bit with the effort to dislodge the weight of the dog. “I know, I know, I missed you too,” he managed.

“You can’t fool a mabari,” Varric heard Aveline say; she sounded almost ready to faint. “That… that has to be…”

“...my brothers,” said Bethany. Her stunned brown eyes were filling with tears, her cheeks pale with bewilderment. Varric caught her hand and squeezed it. “Maker’s breath.”

“We’re home,” said Carver, gently. In more of his usual voice, he added, “And not a moment too soon, by the look of things!”

“That’s true,” said Hawke, finally managing to persuade Dane to let him stand. “I had to come and give the bride away!”

“Excuse me, but she is _my_ twin, _I_ will give her away. Maker knows I tried to give her away enough times back in Lothering, no one would ever take her.” Carver chuckled as Bethany more or less plowed into his embrace, and Hawke wrapped burly arms around them both, while Dane barked and danced at their feet.

If there was a dry eye in the place, Varric would have been deeply surprised. His own were certainly not. Once Hawke released his siblings, he moved to clap the dwarf’s shoulder. “I knew you’d take care of my sister,” he said warmly, “but this isn’t _quite_ what I had in mind. Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Your favorite kind.”

“Explain yourselves,” said Bethany sternly, mastering her sobs and accepting the handkerchief Dorian quietly slipped to her. She wiped her eyes. “Where have you _been_?”

“I’m honestly not sure how long we were in the Fade,” said Carver, passing an excessively casual hand over his face before anyone (besides Varric and Bethany) noticed it was damp. “Felt like years, especially with only this one for company.” He jerked his head in Hawke’s direction. “I think the bickering kept us sane. Eventually we found one of those rifts that you hadn’t sealed yet, fought the demons that were trying to use it to get out, and managed to tumble back into the real world.”

“You mean it was that simple?” Dorian looked just faintly skeptical.

“There wasn’t anything _simple_ about it,” Carver retorted, not unkindly. “But that’s the best I can offer for how we escaped. Bethany – to use Varric’s turn of phrase – is the only one in the family who speaks magic. I’m sure there’s some long-winded and complicated explanation of how we got out of there, but don’t ask me to provide it.”

“I can’t believe it.” Bethany shook her head. “After Adamant, Varric told me not to lose hope, because if anyone could sucker-punch their way out of the Fade it was you two. And you _did._ ”

“We escaped in northern Orlais, as we eventually figured out,” Hawke said, putting an arm around her shoulders again. “Since we were sort of near the Anderfels, Carver thought it best we go and report to the First Warden before anything else. Weisshaupt is a mess, we didn’t stay any longer than necessary.” He shook his head. “From there we went to Minrathous and got a ship to sail us around Rivain, and sent word to Isabela that we needed to be picked up. We finally got in touch with her just a couple of weeks ago.”

“You can imagine how I felt when I got _that_ letter,” said Rivaini. “I didn’t have the advantage of mabari test to make sure they were real, so once they were on my ship, I threw them in the brig for a while.” There was a general chuckle at that. “Since neither of them turned into demons while they were locked up, I figured they were probably safe enough.”

“But you didn’t send _me_ a letter or anything,” Bethany protested mildly.

“We weren’t quite sure what to say. ‘Hey, Inquisitor, stay out of my room’ didn’t really have the level of pizzazz I would have wanted,” said Hawke, smiling when the quip earned a few chuckles. “We were hashing out a plan when Isabela got your wedding invitation, so we decided that this would be the best way to do it. After all, we Hawkes have an excellent sense of dramatic timing…”

“And good hair,” his brother and sister chorused.

“Which brings us to the matter at hand,” said Carver. “You really want to marry Varric?”

“I’m standing right here, Junior,” Varric protested.

Bethany giggled, and gave him a smile. “You know he’s practically a member of the family anyway. We may as well make it official. Besides, who else?”

“She has a point,” said Hawke. “Come on, then, as you were. We have a lot of celebrating to do, so let’s get the formalities out of the way first.”

* * *

The ceremony was nearly finished anyway, so it didn’t take long to wrap up the rest. Hawke stood next to Varric, and Carver took position on Bethany’s other side, and after a bit more pontificating from the very thoroughly bewildered Mother Cressida, the whole thing got sealed in the traditional manner. As the kiss broke, Varric caught sight of Carver pretending to look revolted, and laughed. “I don’t think Junior enjoyed watching this, Sunshine,” he remarked idly.

“I guess we’ll just have to do it more often so he gets used to it.”

“Really, I’m fine,” said Carver. “Nothing personal, Varric, I just never saw her kiss anybody before. It’s weird.”

“I don’t know,” said Hawke. “I think watching _Varric_ kiss somebody is weirder. That’s not even taking into consideration the fact that he’s kissing my sister. But we have more important things to do right now.”

“Like drinking,” Bull called from his place in the back of the room.

“Exactly! There’s a man with his priorities in order.”

“There’s a spread laid out in the dining room, thanks to some very generous gifts,” said Bethany. “This way, everyone, if you please.” She still looked shaken, and weak in the knees, for which Varric couldn’t blame her; he knew her well enough to recognize that she was putting on a brave front. After all, she’d been through an emotional whirlwind for months, which had very suddenly culminated in the best and most improbable fashion possible. It would have surprised him more if she _weren’t_ completely shaken by the whole thing.

Varric let her lead the group; Dorian and Aveline moved to support her on either side, apparently concerned that the bride might legitimately faint from the lingering shock. The majority of the other guests trailed in her wake, murmuring to each other. Meanwhile, the equally stunned groom instead elected to hang back to briefly rub elbows with Hawke. “I guess you have questions,” he said.

“Even if I didn’t, I’m sure you’d tell me anyway. It can wait,” said Hawke. “I don’t have to warn you to be good to her, because you always are. Make her happy and that’s all I can ask.” His expression was unusually serious as he added, “Thanks for looking after her, Varric.”

“She doesn’t make it easy. I mean, she’s Sunshine, but she’s still a _Hawke_.”

“And now you are too, sort of.”

Varric laughed. “Kirkwall is doomed. But I imagine they’ll be glad to have their Champion back. I’d say let’s tell the Viscount, but we still don’t have one.”

“Maybe I’ll volunteer for the job,” Hawke joked. “Come on, Carver, let’s go eat and torment the bride.” He slung an arm around his brother’s neck and half-dragged him to the dining room, leaving Isabela to walk with Varric.

“So be honest,” said Varric, glancing up at her as they brought up the rear of the company. “Were you surprised?”

“Probably not as much as you think I should be,” Isabela replied. “You were always a little sweet on the girl, even way back when. With everything that’s thrown the two of you together since then, this was probably bound to happen.” She chuckled, her brandy-colored eyes glinting in that special way they always did when she came up with a particularly wretched pun. “Besides, if you think about it, it seems almost meant to be.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what makes you say that?”

“Think about it. When Bethany was in the Circle, she was living in the _Gallows_. And all that same time, you were living in the _Hanged Man_.”

Varric groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That, Rivaini, is quite possibly the single worst joke you’ve ever told - and believe me, _that_ is saying something.”

She tittered. “I had you going, didn’t I? You thought it was going to be something dirty!”

* * *

The reception progressed altogether differently from what anybody might have been expecting. After all, there were a _lot_ of stories which needed to be told in greater detail, and a lot of questions to be answered, and a great many beverages and sandwiches to be consumed. Several toasts were offered for the health, well-being, and ‘productivity’ of the newlyweds, the latter of which nearly made Varric choke.

(Dwarf-human hybrid children were even more rare than regular dwarf children. The odds of the marriage being ‘fruitful’ were pretty low. But if Bethany decided she wanted to settle down and be a mother, they could always pluck a couple of foundlings out of Darktown; Maker knew there were enough to spare.)

Gradually the visitors peeled off and went their separate ways, leaving behind their congratulations and taking with them their bewilderment. By dinnertime, it was just the family, Dorian, Bull (who had sent the Chargers back to the Hanged Man), Isabela, Merrill, and the Hendyrs. Dane hardly seemed to know what to do with himself, bounding repeatedly between the twins whenever he wasn’t draping himself across Hawke’s lap.

Varric felt a little sorry for Dorian, who _also_ didn’t quite seem to know what to do with himself, and he was pretty sure he knew why. He’d been sort of a substitute brother to Bethany ever since Adamant, on account of their close friendship; now that her real brothers had returned, he probably felt a little superfluous. Sunshine herself seemed to have an inkling of this. “You two,” she informed Hawke and Carver, “ought to thank Dorian. He was a tremendous help in keeping my spirits up after Adamant. Varric couldn’t do it all by himself, you know.”

“We knew you’d be okay,” said Hawke, in the gentle tone he seemed to be reserving for her. “With as many friends as you had around you, we knew you’d figure things out. But you’re right, we owe a lot of people thanks.” He lifted his glass to Dorian. “I appreciate you being the brother she needed while we were gone.”

“Well, we couldn’t depend on Varric for everything, now, could we?” Dorian replied, amused. He lifted his own glass in response. “Your thanks are appreciated, but honestly not necessary. It’s been interesting, having a sister of sorts.”

“You can keep her,” Carver offered. Merrill, seated beside him, giggled and tried to shush him.

“At least _he_ never nailed my braid to the headboard,” Bethany retorted. “In some ways he was an improvement.”

“Only in _some_ ways?” Dorian asked, pretending to be affronted.

“Better quit while you’re ahead, Lady Tethras,” Varric advised her. “I don’t think there’s a good end to this.”

“You might be right. I’ll let them quarrel without me,” she said, clearly amused. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”

“Tired,” said Bull, his chuckle a quiet rumble in his chest. “Right, boss.”

* * *

“It’s a nice change,” Sunshine remarked to Varric a little while later, in the privacy of her – now their – room. “I’ve gotten used to _losing_ members of my family. This time I’ve gotten two of them back and added another one.”

“Maybe you’ll add another one down the road,” he replied with a chuckle, watching her brush her hair. “Seems like Daisy is finally cottoning on to Junior’s interest. Or else she’s known all along and is finally going to admit it. Either way, she seemed happier to get him back than I would have expected.”

“Mm, you noticed that too, did you? Good, then maybe I’m not imagining it. I’d like Carver to be happy, and I always thought he and Merrill could be good for each other. The Wardening might get in the way a bit, though.”

“Meanwhile, we didn’t actually plan on a honeymoon, all things considered,” Varric said. “Are we just staying here until you head back to your palace in the mountains?”

“Under the circumstances, it’s hard for me to want to go anywhere else,” she admitted.

“No argument. I feel the same way.”

“I thought you might. Dorian and Bull are planning to depart in a few days, to go and do whatever it is they’ve decided to do,” she said. “I’ve sent word to Josephine, myself, and my ship leaves a week from Friday. That gives us a good ten days to be here with my brothers and remember how to be a family.”

“And I guess I need to move out of the Hanged Man,” he remarked, in a tone which betrayed his extremely minor disappointment. “Well, your brother has his uses, he can help me carry things.”

“Yes, and I’ll feel better about leaving if I know you’re here at the house with Garrett,” Bethany noted. “I’ll be counting on you to keep an eye on things. You know what he’s like. If you don’t stay here, he’ll quite possibly run around without any pants and help Merrill steal someone’s griffon.”

“I can’t say you’re wrong, Sunshine,” he said with a chuckle. “But are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

“You’re home,” she told him fondly, sectioning her hair to weave it into a braid. “And you should stay here. You kept every promise you ever made me, and the world has asked more than its fair share of you; it’s time you relaxed.”

“Not that I object to staying in Kirkwall, but what about you?”

“I still have work to do. The Inquisition needs its Inquisitor, for some strange reason.”

“Yeah, well, it can get in line,” he retorted gruffly. “Can I ask you something, Sunshine?”

“Of course.” She glanced back over her shoulder.

“How long ago did you figure this out?” He gestured between the two of them to indicate what he meant by _this_.

“You mean when did I figure out that I would ‘love this dwarf for the rest of my days’?” She chuckled. “I think it was just before the Arbor Wilds. The game of Wicked Grace.”

“Really? That long?” More than anything, he was surprised that she had been able to keep it from him for so many months.

“That long.” She nodded. “The care you put into arranging the whole thing – I was almost speechless. And it made me realize just how long you’d been putting me _first_ , how hard you had worked to make sure I was as safe and comfortable and protected as it was possible for someone in my position to be.” She secured the ribbon at the end of her braid, and studied her hairbrush thoughtfully. “The game brought it all forward, but I guess in a way, it was always you. Or if not always, for a really long time. I just didn’t know it.”

“I may have to steal that for one of my books,” he teased, and she laughed.

“Well, what about you, then?” she challenged lightly. “I get the impression you figured it out later.”

“It’s a bit like you say – it was going on for a lot longer than I realized it.” He thought back to that day in the Frostback Basin. “It was your birthday, actually. We were fighting a group of demons at a rift, and one of them knocked me on my ass, and I looked up as you were sealing it. It was like I couldn’t breathe. I’d always thought you were one of the loveliest things I’d ever seen, but at that moment…” He shook his head. “I had no words. Still don’t, if we’re being honest, and that’s not an easy thing for me to admit.”

Bethany had her arms folded on the back of her vanity chair and rested her chin on them, watching him with glowing topaz eyes. “Is that right,” she said softly. “I could listen to you talk about this all night, honestly. It’s like I’m in one of your books.”

“Sunshine, you’ve been in a lot of my books,” he admitted. “You’re Lady Marielle, for one thing. Although if I’d known then what I know now, I would _not_ have married you to Sebastian.”

She burst out laughing. “I thought Sebastian was the killer?”

“He was both, actually. The killer and the victim. I was desperately trying to make him more interesting than he really is, but I don’t think I managed it. And I guess at the time, I thought it was only fair to marry you off to the handsome prince, since you seemed like you might like that sort of thing.”

“Mm, well, he does fit the bill,” she allowed. “But I think I prefer the way the real story played out.”

“Glad to hear that. Well, Lady Tethras,” he continued, deciding that he liked this new nickname, “do you feel up to doing some proofreading for me? Because I have a few new scenes written and I’d like a fresh pair of eyes to take a look.”

Bethany blinked. “Is that _seriously_ how you want to spend our wedding night?”

Varric laughed. “Just teasing, Sunshine.”

* * *

In the Hawke family’s absence for the past few years, Aveline’s guards had ensured that the house remained largely undisturbed, so all of their belongings – Hawke’s books, Carver’s tools, Leandra’s jewels and clothes – were where they had been left when the estate was abandoned. The prodigal nestlings had to go through everything, figure out what should belong to whom, where it should be kept. While they worked on this project, Hawke and Carver brought their sister and brother-in-law up to date on everything they didn’t already know, and vice versa. Arguably the most startling revelation was that while the brothers were in Weisshaupt, the First Warden had conferred on Carver the rank of Warden-Constable of the Free Marches.

“It means I’m not going to be able to stay more than these few days,” he said regretfully. “But I might not be gone too long. The Wardens have safehouses all over the place, some of which have been abandoned over time – if I can arrange it, we’ll reinstate the one just outside of Kirkwall and I’ll make it my headquarters of a sort. It’ll let me be here as often as possible when I don’t have to travel.”

“You’ll have to write when you can,” Bethany told him.

“I think I can do that. Maybe. I’ll think about it.” He dodged the projectile she half-heartedly lobbed at his head, and laughed.

Word spread quickly through Kirkwall after the wedding that the lost Hawke boys had found their way home, and Varric was fairly certain that the news would easily spread outside the city before long. Hawke was reinstated to his rank as Champion, even in the continued absence of a true Viscount; Bran wasn’t remotely pleased to see him, of course, but couldn’t very well argue against it. He even seemed at least a little bit relieved that there was another person in the city who could possibly be considered an authority figure. With Hawke around, Bran probably figured at least a few of Kirkwall’s problems stood a chance of being resolved by someone other than himself. How _likely_ that was, Varric had no idea, but he had to give the man points for positive thinking.

Many of the nobility came by the house – to see the Champion, and the Inquisitor, and the Warden-Constable, and the famous author. There were many expressions of congratulations; there were possibly even more expressions of incredulity. It was hard to blame them, really. Even in Kirkwall, where impossible things had been known to happen with such regularity that you could practically set a clock by them, the fabled Champion emerging from the Fade was only deemed slightly more unlikely than Varric getting married.

With all the visitors and nostalgia, the days slid by entirely too quickly. Their Inquisition friends took their leave less than a week after the wedding; Carver went the following day. Varric could see in his wife’s face just how much it hurt her to say so many goodbyes in such a short space of time. “You’ll hear from them soon, Sunshine, I’m sure of it.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But I’m the next to go, and that’s going to be even harder.”

Her words rang in Varric’s mind as he stood on the dock a few days later. Friday dawned clear, fine, and a little cold; Bethany was wrapped in a wool cloak he recognized as having once been her mother’s. They watched as boxes and trunks were loaded onto the ship which would carry her back to Ferelden, where Josephine would probably send a contingent of soldiers to accompany their Inquisitor into the Frostbacks.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” he asked for maybe the tenth time. “I’d need fifteen minutes to pack, tops.”

“I want you to enjoy some rest, at least when you’re not trying to keep my brother out of trouble.” Hawke had given her his affectionate farewell back at the house, apparently having decided to allow the newlyweds a modicum of privacy at the dock. It was an unusual show of delicacy, coming from him. “Finish your book about the Inquisition - I’m sort of looking forward to reading something called _All This Shit is Weird_.” Bethany chuckled, and gave her left hand a little shake.

“Is it bothering you?” He frowned at her glove.

“Like I told you, it’s a little prickly now and then, like it goes to sleep. I think it’s just an after-effect from closing rifts, it’ll ease up,” she promised. She turned to look at him, but as her mouth opened to say something else, they heard the call for _all aboard._ Something inside of Varric twisted violently.

“I guess you’d better get going,” he said.

“It’s - I mean - we’ll see each other again soon. I’ll come home,” she mumbled. “As soon as I can.”

“I know.” He didn’t know anything of the sort. There was a sickly finality to the whole thing, and it terrified him deep where he tried not to let it show. “Give my regards to your war council,” he added, “and tell Curly that I’m counting on him to look after you.”

She chuckled a bit; then, as though forcing herself to act before she could think better of it, she suddenly flung her arms around his neck and pushed her face into his shoulder. “Write to me.”

“Already did, Sunshine. It’s in your trunk.” Varric patted her back gently. “Read it later.”

She pulled back just far enough to rest her forehead against his. “Thank you for everything.” Her eyes opened, and he saw a glimmer of tears obscuring the velvety brown.

“None of that, Lady Tethras,” he admonished her warmly. “Can’t stand to see you cry. Like you said, this isn’t forever. You might even enjoy not having me looking over your shoulder all the time.”

“Somehow I doubt it, but I guess we’ll find out.” She kissed him briefly. A second call was being issued, and with obvious reluctance, Bethany left his embrace and moved to the gangplank. Varric kept his face as carefully neutral as he could, not wanting to upset her even more, and watched as she took a spot by the railing. Behind her, sails were opened and billowed in the morning wind.

As the ship began to move, it seemed like she was shouting something, but he couldn’t make out the words. She seemed to realize this, and resigned herself to gesturing, and it took him a few seconds to understand what she was doing – she blew him another kiss. He waved in reply, wondering if she could see his smile from such a distance.

Varric remained in place until the ship was far enough away that he could no longer make out the woman on the deck. Only then did he turn to make his way back through the city streets. Kirkwall, he thought, had not felt so empty in a very long time.


	40. The Worst Job You Can Think Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newlyweds exchange letters to pass the time until the Exalted Council. Sometimes they're silly, sometimes they're spicy.

My dear Lady Tethras,

By the time you find this, you’ll probably be on that ship which is taking you away from me. This hardly seems fair, you know. Not that I’m blaming you. It’s not your fault that Thedas continues to issue its demands. Still, it was a short honeymoon.

I’m sure that I asked you too many times if you had changed your mind about my accompanying you. I’m really not fond of letting you out of my sight – especially now – so you’ll have to excuse me if I was at all grumpy during our farewells. I’ve been trying to keep you out of trouble for almost two years straight, and now suddenly I have to find a new hobby.

I remember when your brothers were first lost to us, and I made a remark to Dorian that I had to get used to there being a sort of hole in the air where Hawke used to be. This is the same concept, though not quite as depressing; at least I know where you are, more or less. Still, your absence is a thing to which I’m not eager to adjust. Who’s going to make sure you get enough sleep and eat at regular intervals if I’m not there?

At least I’ll be able to transfer some of my fussing to Hawke, per your directions. He’s much less visually interesting than you are, at least to me, but he does need to be reminded to put on pants in the morning and things like that. I’m sure you’ll get some letters from him advising you that I’m being thoroughly annoying. But hey, after what he put us through, he deserves that, right?

You haven’t even left yet and I already miss you. You have turned me into a sap, madam. I don’t think I even want to know what Dorian would say. (He still owes me a share of the winnings from that betting pool.) I suppose I should end this here in order to enjoy being in the same room with you while it’s still an option. You’re asleep beside me and I need to dislodge your lovely bulk so I can lie down properly.

Write to me as soon as you can, please.

Your husband

* * *

Hello, dear husband,

What a funny greeting that is to send, but I do like it. As soon as you and Kirkwall were out of sight, I went straight to my cabin to find the letter you mentioned. It was like a gift.

I’m writing this first letter from Starkhaven; Sebastian sends his regards. He was so sorry not to make the wedding, but over dinner he had me regale him with all of the details, and he couldn’t stop praising Andraste for the safe return of my brothers. You know how he is, although in this case I was certainly not inclined to argue.

We’re making a couple of stops throughout the Free Marches before heading back to Skyhold, so I will send this before we cross the sea in order to shorten your wait as much as I can. There aren’t too many rifts to seal on this side, thankfully.

It feels so strange to be traveling alone. I’m not _really_ alone, of course, because of the Inquisition scouts and soldiers who were sent to accompany me. But it’s more alone than I’ve been in a long time. Part of me wishes I’d given in to your offers to come with me, I miss you so much. Stay where you are, dear; I’ll be all right. It’s just an adjustment, but I’ll manage. I need you to keep my brother from being too silly, like we discussed.

Please tell me he’s putting on pants at least every other day. Even if it’s not true, please tell me that. Let me believe it.

I’ll be sending a letter to Garrett along with this one, so they should reach the estate at the same time, as well as sending one to Carver at his outpost. I can’t have either of them accusing me of favoritism, after all. Besides, you’re the favorite and everyone knows it.

You can send your letter to me at Skyhold; I’ll just count on getting caught up on my reading when I get there.

Much love,

Your Sunshine

 

Your Sunny Worship,

I’ll have to ask your forgiveness if these letters are in any way lacking. I’m not used to writing to my wife.

Your letters arrived from Starkhaven this morning and for once, I’m inclined to agree with you about Choirboy. He overdoes it on the pious and cheer sometimes, but when it comes to getting your brothers back, I can’t criticize. He can be as happy as he wants and give all the praise he thinks is appropriate.

You’ll have a letter from Hawke soon enough. He’s turned into even more of a local celebrity than he used to be, and we both know that’s saying something. I guess the news about him staying in the Fade traveled even more than I realized, because people are coming from all over the place to have a look at him and see for themselves that he’s still here and not an abomination or something.

Not that I’m a leading expert on such things, but as far as I can tell, he definitely isn’t. No more than he ever was, anyway. And yes, he’s putting on pants more often than not.

We had a brief letter from Carver just yesterday. He’ll probably be writing to you himself soon, but the upshot of it was that he’s settled at the waypost and back to his regularly scheduled Wardening. He sounds – well, he sounds like Junior, that’s really all I can say. You know him better than probably anybody, I don’t need to tell you.

Rivaini’s off to sea again and this time Daisy went with her. I think, although I can’t say for sure, that they might be stopping to visit Junior somewhere along the way. Aveline’s doing well; there’s a rumor going around that she and Donnic might be starting a family sometime soon. I don’t claim to know how likely that is. And we finally got a letter from the elf, he sends you his regards.

Kirkwall was never exactly the most attractive city, but I don’t think I fully appreciated how much nicer it is when the sun is shining. Ever since you left it’s been continually overcast – it’s not unbearable, just a bit dim and dull and lacking in the one thing that makes any spot in the world shining and beautiful. For as much time as I spent _there_ being homesick for _here_ , I’ve grown pretty damn homesick for Skyhold. It’s got what Kirkwall needs.

I never can say anything quite straight, can I? I think I’ve gotten used to phrasing my thoughts in code and metaphor. Let me be plainer. I miss you.

I’m sure I’ll hear from you before you actually get to read this, so I’ll try to be patient.

Love, Varric

* * *

Hello dear,

Well, I’m still not back to Skyhold, so I’m enjoying the idea that I have (or will have) a large pile of mail to read when I get there, mostly from you and my brothers.

We bade Sebastian a fond farewell and headed southeast, toward Markham. They have one or two rifts in the vicinity; the report wasn’t entirely clear. Our ship has been docked in Ostwick while we’ve visited Starkhaven; once we reach that, we’ll sail east to Hercinia, then up to Wycome. I have a letter from Josephine, which was waiting for me when I reached the royal palace, saying that there’s been some little unrest in the Wycome region and it might be something we should check while we’re there. Once we finish there, we’ll be heading back to Highever, and thence to Skyhold.

Just writing it out sounds tiring. All told, from what I’m given to understand, it should be another six to eight weeks before I see the castle again. And the time feels longer without my dwarf. I’m glad I insisted that you remain in Kirkwall and get some rest, because I meant what I said – you were better than your word and you deserve to be at home. But I miss you even more than I thought I would, and that’s quite a lot.

I’m sorry this isn’t much of a letter. I’m writing it inside the carriage, which Sebastian insisted on providing. It’s very comfortable, and it even has a nice little writing table (if you get a carriage of your own sometime, you should make sure it has one for your use), but the road’s a little bumpy and it’s hard to write very much at one time without getting dizzy. I’ll make up for it once we reach a place where I can sit and properly write a nice long letter.

Until then, if you miss me too badly, do as I do and think about that last ‘conversation’ we had in your rooms at the Hanged Man.

Love, Bethany

* * *

My wife, who is far more of a tease than I ever imagined,

This is in response to the letter you sent after leaving Starkhaven, in case you’re having trouble remembering what you said when. Trust me, I think often and fondly on that ‘conversation’ at the Hanged Man. I think we should have a lot more conversations like that at the first opportunity. Apparently, having a beautiful young wife makes me feel a lot younger than I really am.

Unfortunately (for him), your brother managed to get his grubby mitts on that letter when I carelessly allowed it out of my line of sight for more than thirty seconds. At first, he wanted to know about the conversation – what did we talk about? Was it serious? Was this when I proposed? Technically, yes it was, so I did tell him that. Then he wanted details. Then he took a second look at the paper and realized that you put the word _conversation_ in accent marks, and I had the pleasure of watching his expression as he did some distressing mental arithmetic. He stopped asking questions after that.

In other Kirkwall news, they’re finally working on getting red lyrium Meredith out of the Gallows, so she should be gone by the time you come home. Meanwhile, they’re laying the foundation for the new Chantry, and there’s constantly a complaint for lack of funding. I’ve already dropped a line to our beloved Divine Victoria. The Chantry has enough money, they don’t need my help – the regular people are the ones who need help. I’ve started masterminding a few relief efforts down in Darktown.

With Blondie gone, what the people needed most immediately was a reputable healer who wasn’t going to rob them blind, so we’ve got one of those. I forgot how convenient it is that the door to your estate’s cellar is right outside of his old clinic, but we’re making use of it. He left a few things behind, mostly elfroot potions and a couple dozen copies of his manifesto, which at least make good kindling. I got in touch with Madam Fiona in your absence, and sent what may have sounded like a more official request than was actually warranted, and she sent two of her people to us. They arrived the day after I sent my last letter to you.

Something tells me, Lady Tethras, that this is the start of a whole new bunch of problems for your favorite dwarf. But at least I’m not getting bored in your absence.

I’ll send this off to Skyhold to be added to your growing collection, and then Hawke and I are supposed to meet Donnic and a couple of the other guards for a game of Wicked Grace at the old Hanged Man. I promise not to bet the house.

Love, Varric

* * *

Dearest dwarf of mine,

We’re on the ship bound for Hercinia, so it’s a bit smoother for writing. By the time you read this, I’ll likely be on the way to Wycome. It sounds as though the unrest there has something to do with a clan of elves, and I don’t really have all the details but we’ll get it sorted.

I’m trying to imagine what the future of the Inquisition is going to be, going forward. Is this the sort of thing I’m going to be handling once all the rifts are gone? Odd moments of political nonsense, occasionally punctuated by Chantry business? In between autograph signings and magic demonstrations, of course.

On the bright side (I guess), no one contests the Inquisition’s authority anymore, nor mine. It seems like people are perfectly happy to have me stick my nose into whatever the local concerns happen to be. More than ever, I should say – there was always an element of that for some of the people we encountered.

Enough of this, let me write of more pleasant things. I’m enclosing a separate sheet which is a list of all the books I’ve picked up; I keep browsing booksellers’ stalls whenever I find one, and since I don’t have access to Skyhold’s wonderful library just now, nor the one my grandfather left, I can’t resist buying new volumes. I’d like you to check this list against the titles in the family library, to make sure I’m not buying multiples of things we already own. I’m thinking of sending a message to Arl Teagan, when I return to Skyhold, to propose that he establish a lending library in Redcliffe for the good of the people. If I’ve bought any duplicates, I’ll just donate them to the cause.

You may also see some packages arrive at the house from time to time. I did a bit of other shopping in Starkhaven, and will likely do some in Wycome, and I’ll send my purchases home rather than taking them to Skyhold with me. A few of them are gifts for you and Garrett and our other friends. Others are things that – well, shall we say, were purchased with my husband in mind, so there’s no point in my keeping them with me when you’re so far away. I’ll leave that to your imagination.

My candle reminds me to conclude; we’re sailing at night, currently, and the light is burning low so I should sleep. I’ll post this as soon as we reach Wycome, so that you can be curious about my purchases for as long as possible.

Love, Bethany

* * *

My dear Lady Tethras,

Your letter from the trip to Hercinia just arrived, and as far as I’m concerned, the diversion came not a moment too soon. We’ve had a number of more official visitors lately; Seneschal Bran is still playing provisional viscount, and it’s becoming increasingly clear (if it wasn’t already) that he _does not_ want the job. I’m actually a little surprised, to be honest, because he seems like the kind of person who really would want the headache of a crown, but it looks like he’s smarter than I gave him credit for being and he understands that pointy headwear doesn’t do much for anybody.

Anyway, there’s a small and subtle movement here in town which is trying to convince your brother to take the position. I will pause here to give you time to laugh. That’s right, the man you fear will forget to put on pants before he walks out the door each morning is being petitioned to enter the government. Then again, on second thought, there’s something oddly appropriate about that.

I don’t want you worrying, however. I can promise you, in all sincerity, that Garrett Hawke has absolutely zero intentions of becoming the Viscount of Kirkwall. He says he’s perfectly content just being Champion. This actually leads into the second kind of official visitors we’ve been entertaining – the kind who want to use him for promotion. I’m not even kidding. Just after lunch he had a little meeting with a couple of fishmongers who operate out of Kirkwall harbor. They offered him money (not much, but I imagine it was all they could afford) to be allowed to say that he eats their smoked kippers every morning for breakfast, so they can advertise it as being the “breakfast of Champions.” I pointed out that as incredible as Hawke is, he’s still only one person, so it’s not so much a “breakfast of Champions” as it would be a “breakfast of _the_ Champion,” but they insisted that it sounds better the other way.

I only know about self-promotion when it comes to books, after all, so maybe they’re onto something here. Anyway, your brother found the whole thing to be hilarious, and he couldn’t bring himself to take their money, so they offered him a week’s supply of the kippers instead. He says they’re pretty tasty and he’s fine with them claiming he eats them for breakfast. I guess it could be worse; it’s not like a trader has come up from Orzammar and tried to get him to endorse nug stew or something.

I’ll work on checking your book list against the library contents, but it’s going to take me a while. Some of those bookshelves are pretty high, and your brother has yet to invest in a ladder. I might have to take matters into my own hands. Your idea of the library in Redcliffe is clever, not that I’m surprised; nobody is as acutely aware of how brilliant the Inquisitor is than her own personal one-man public relations team, after all. Let me know what the Arl says about it, because I’m curious and I’d be willing to donate a couple copies of my books if he decides to run with the plan.

Speaking of me being curious, I’m very interested to see what’s in these packages you’re sending home which you can’t enjoy without me. The imagination is set aflame, milady. I might need to start making a few purchases of my own to return the favor. Or maybe I’ll just keep working on books; I’ve nearly finished the Orlesian thriller and that means I’ll have some free time. I could take some inspiration from real life, write a little something about a stunningly beautiful woman who stole the heart of a dashing rogue without him even realizing it, and he was going to try to steal hers but she gave it to him freely. He wasn’t expecting that, you know.

Be safe, Sunshine.

Love, Varric

* * *

Greetings from Skyhold to its most-missed former occupant!

Well, at least, you’re the former occupant that _I_ miss the most. I haven’t taken a survey to see how universal the sentiment is. But I can already hear you saying that mine is the opinion that matters.

It feels wonderful to be here again, even though it’s incredibly strange to have so few of my companions with me. I’m starting to sift through my large pile of mail; besides you and my brothers, I have some letters from Dorian and Vivienne and I think there’s even one from Sera. Cole pops in occasionally, but he’s doing some traveling of sorts much of the time; he visits our assorted outposts, helps the scouts and the soldiers where he can, and now and then brings back news he thinks we need to know.

I do have something exciting to share, and I think you’ll find this as amusing as I do myself. Cullen and his noble sweetheart have returned from Ostwick, so I went to greet him and give him our big news. I think it will be funniest if I just write down exactly what we said here:

“I have something to tell you,” I said.

“Actually, I have something to tell you as well,” he replied. “But by all means, please, go first.”

“Well,” I said, “while we were in the Free Marches… I got married!”

He blinked at me, and he laughed, and then he said, “Me too!”

I couldn’t have made this up if I tried, Varric. When Cullen and his girlfriend visited her family, he spoke to her father about wanting to marry her, and the family accepted him so enthusiastically that they held a small wedding on their estate before they came back to Skyhold. A bit like ours, but without the shocking arrival of missing relatives. He was quite astonished when I told him about _that_ part of our ceremony, but the identity of my bridegroom didn’t surprise him at all. Josephine and Leliana were also not surprised – actually, I suspect that they might have been involved in the same betting pool as Dorian, and to that end he might have tipped them off when it was clear he was the winner.

Speaking of which, has he sent you your cut?

Anyway, Lady Rutherford (as she’s now called) is generally regarded as the luckiest woman in Skyhold by almost everyone who isn’t married to you. That’s not to say that anyone’s been even slightly remiss in congratulating me or wishing us well, of course, but in our situation, it seems that most people think you’re the lucky one. I can say that to you because I know you would agree. But you don’t lack for admirers, serah, and there are a fair few who think that I’m deserving of envy myself. I trust that will soothe your ego.

I’ve read all of your letters a few times now, and you were right, the idea of my brother being Viscount did make me laugh. I’m so glad to have the letters in my hands; I can practically hear your voice when I read them and while it’s no substitute for the real thing, it’s an improvement over nothing at all.

I’m next planning to write to Isabela. She seems to want a detailed description of your chest hair, so I’m trying to decide which is the better turn of phrase. Should I say that it’s _like a field of young wheat, lightly kissed by a summer breeze_? Or would you prefer _the hairs are as soft and pale as cornsilk, and I miss pillowing my cheek on them_? Then again, maybe both is better.

As you can see, my love, you are a terrible influence.

Your Sunshine

* * *

My dear Lady Tethras,

If calling me a terrible influence was in any way a suggestion that I should stop, I’m afraid it failed entirely. And please, give Curly my best wishes, that's great news.

However, I have some more serious news that I think you had better learn now, from me, before the gossipmongers spread it too far outside of Kirkwall. Don’t worry, everyone is fine, but all the same I think you should sit down before you read any farther.

All comfy? Good.

The facts are these. You know how I wrote you that we got some new healers into Darktown to help the people? Well, I’ve been up to some other projects in the same vein, trying to make things a little better for the more impoverished residents of Kirkwall. If there’s one thing that my time in the Inquisition confirmed for me (I mean, other than that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me personally), it’s that small steps are sometimes the best way to make big changes. So there’s been a lot of that going on. Fixing up some of the housing, making it possible for some of the old Fereldan refugees to go home if that’s what they want to do, rounding up the orphaned kids in the Undercity and putting them in a clean house above ground where they can have decent food and fresh air. That sort of thing.

You remember the Foundry District, or as I always called it, the rusty metal spike district? The buildings lie empty and it’s just ugly as sin as well as a waste. I was talking to your brother about it, and we were brainstorming an idea. I guess your library in Redcliffe kind of inspired us, because we thought, why not fix up the buildings and repurpose them into a school? Some proper public schooling would be good for the kids whose parents aren’t educated enough to teach them at home or rich enough to get them private tutors, not to mention the ones who don’t have parents at all. Plus we could finally get rid of the rusty metal spike aesthetic.

Well, first I figured we needed to find out who owns the property and buy it out from under them. Turns out it belongs to the city itself. Okay, so I go to Bran about it. Bran tells me that only the Viscount can approve such a measure, and since we don’t have a real Viscount, there’s no one who can give us the go-ahead. I said, and this is where I made my mistake, “Then we need a proper Viscount! Just pick somebody already!”

I won’t go into the details, Sunshine. I don’t think I even remember all of them. But the long and short of it is that they _did_ pick somebody, and well, we’re adding a new title to your already long string of them. Congratulations, beautiful, you’re now the Viscountess of Kirkwall – by virtue of being married to the newly elected Viscount.

I don’t want this job. But I do want those kids to get an education, so… I’m kind of stuck here at least for the time being. We’re not doing a formal coronation until my wife is here to stand beside me, though, I managed to put my foot down about that much at least. Please come and save me.

Love, Varric

* * *

My lord of Kirkwall,

I guess I have to start calling you that, hm? You poor thing. But you know, dear, nobody loves Kirkwall quite as much or as well as you do, so in a way this is completely appropriate. You’ll be able to do so much good for the people. I’m proud of you, dear, and I think the school idea is a wonderful one.

Meanwhile, I’m afraid I have news for you as well, of the equally serious kind and not quite as pleasant. Apparently the Fereldan nobles are having issue with our continuing to maintain Caer Bronach as an outpost, not to mention sitting here in Skyhold on the border of the two countries. Orlais, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten that I saved their Empress’s life and want to try to control us from within. There are other issues happening too. Leliana’s done the best she can, but now that she’s been formally installed as Divine, she can’t put anything off anymore. She’s convening what they call an Exalted Council to go over the whole thing, and I’m to summon all of my inner circle to come and give testimony about the actions of the Inquisition.

Yes, this means you.

We meet at Halamshiral Palace in six weeks’ time, which will hopefully give everyone enough time to travel. Your formal summons will follow this letter, not by very long I’m sure. I can’t imagine this is going to be any sort of painless matter, but at least it means I get to see you and we can have a conversation or two (interpret that how you like) before the whole thing gets underway. I have missed you so much, I’m actually excited for this stupid meeting just because it means seeing you again.

All my love,

Bethany Tethras, Viscountess of Kirkwall (I can get used to that)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the joke about the "breakfast of Champions" didn't make sense to you, it's a reference to Wheaties breakfast cereal. Their schtick is, or at least used to be, that it was the "breakfast of champions" because it was endorsed by a lot of high-profile athletes. I thought it was funny, anyway. ;)


	41. I've Got Traditions to Uphold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited and it feels so good...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back to this story! I apologize for the huge passage of time since the last update, but well, life got in the way. The good news is that the story is mostly finished from this point forward, so expect another two or possibly three chapters to wrap it all up.
> 
> Yes, we're in Trespasser territory now, and you know what that means for the Inquisitor. Unfortunately, Varric does not, and he's not going to be happy when he finds out. I couldn't handle all the emotions of these final chapters alone, so I'm indebted to my beloved friend and frequent coauthor AuroraBorealia for all of her assistance. Enjoy!

“You know,” Varric remarked conversationally, “the last time I came to the Winter Palace, I had kind of hoped I’d never be here again.”

His entourage had left Kirkwall almost two weeks ahead of the date of the Exalted Council, and was now setting up camp in the section of the grounds which had been earmarked for the use of the Inquisitor and her associates. The time of year was different from their last visit; it was warmer, more tolerable for sleeping outside – well, as far as temperatures were concerned, anyway. He could have done with a lot fewer insects.

He was addressing his remarks to Seneschal Bran, who had _insisted_ on accompanying his new boss to the event. Why, Varric wasn’t entirely sure. Even threatening to leave Hawke in charge of Kirkwall during their absence hadn’t been quite enough to persuade Bran to stay behind (although it had certainly come close). Hopefully Hawke would remember to wear pants. He was better about it than Bethany seemed to think, but that didn’t make the joke any less funny.

“Well, Your Excellency, I’ve taken the liberty of having your mail forwarded here while this is going on,” Bran said. “So we can keep abreast of all of the necessary details about the political climate in the Free Marches and things like that.”

“Oh, I’m so glad that the Merchants’ Guild can continue to harass me even when I’m on vacation,” Varric retorted.

“I wouldn’t call this a vacation, serah.”

“Honestly, neither would I,” he admitted, “but at least my friends are here. Speaking of whom, I have some reunions to conduct while I’m waiting for the Inquisitor to arrive.”

“Er. Yes. Do we know when Her Worship is expected?”

“By sundown, to judge by the scuttlebutt I’ve been hearing.” Varric shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.” He was, he thought, doing a rather impressive job of acting like he wasn’t crawling out of his skin with anticipation. “Which reminds me – these Imperial Palace yahoos _did_ get the memo, right? They know to have her quarters and my quarters be the same?”

Bran looked thoughtful, and maybe slightly pained. “That’s a good question, Excellency. I’ll look into it and make any necessary corrections to the arrangements.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.” Bran might be one of the most annoying people on the face of the planet, but he was good at his job. “If anybody’s looking for me, I’m wandering over to say hello to Her Perfection and a few other people.”

* * *

With that, Varric left the bower, or whatever it was called, where he’d be sleeping and started meandering through the impressive gardens. Much to his amusement, the first old friend with whom he found himself reuniting was none other than Cassandra. She was sitting on a bench, surrounded by blooming flowers, with her nose in a book. Someone had gotten her some new armor, he noticed; as he drew close enough to see the detailing, he bit down a chuckle when he saw the tiny heart cutouts on the edges of her pauldrons. He had missed her, in his own weird way. “Seeker! They dragged you back for this too, did they?”

Cassandra glanced up, and set her book aside at once. “Varric. I hadn’t heard you had arrived – you look well.”

“Yeah, married life agrees with me,” he said nonchalantly, waiting for her reaction.

Much to his satisfaction, she didn’t disappoint. The dark eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. “ _Marriage_?” she repeated. “You got married? I mean – I know Cullen did, I had a letter, and half the Orlesian court was thrown into mourning when the news broke. But – you? Married?” She paused, and tilted her head. “To the Inquisitor?”

“Well, really, who else?”

“Oh. Well. That’s a good – _wait_.” Her eyes narrowed. “No. I’m not falling for another one of your wild stories.”

“Seeker, you wound me. Would I lie about something so important, not to mention so easily verifiable?”

She hesitated, and it was a bit like the way he had described Hawke in one of his letters to Bethany; she seemed to be doing some mental arithmetic. “That’s true,” she said finally. “It wouldn’t be too difficult to – to find someone who could confirm or deny your story, especially once the Inquisitor arrives.”

“Exactly.” He smiled for the first time. “Actually, I’m planning to talk to Curly about maybe having a dual party once everyone gets here, celebrate both weddings together or something. He and Sunshine had a good chuckle comparing notes, he and his lady tied the knot just a few days before we did.” He paused for dramatic emphasis. “His wasn’t quite as eventful as ours though.”

“Oh?”

Varric suddenly remembered that, unlike Bethany, Cassandra’s brother’s loss had been an extremely permanent thing, and he just hoped that his next piece of news wouldn’t cause her any undue pain. “Yeah, uh. It was pretty shocking, but… the Hawke boys? They _escaped_ the Fade. Showed up just in time to interrupt the ceremony.” Seeing her skeptical look, he lifted his hands. “You can ask Sparkler or Tiny, they were on hand for the whole thing. I thought Sparkler was going to kill them both for fear that they were demons.”

“Oh, Maker.” Some of the blood had drained out of her face as she presumably tried to picture the whole thing. “Oh, Bethany must be so _happy_ ,” she gushed; then, with an impudent smirk that somehow delighted him, she added, “Even with _you_ as her husband.”

“I’ll have you know I happen to be an _excellent_ husband, madam,” he retorted, smiling in spite of himself. “Meanwhile, how’s your Seeker collection coming along? How’s your elf?”

“It’s been a long road, trying to rebuild the Seekers,” she admitted. “But we’re recovering.” She looked out over the gardens for a minute, then chuckled faintly. “As strange as it is to admit, I’m actually glad to be in Orlais for possibly the first time in my entire life. Of course, that has very little to do with this place and everything to do with the people here at the moment.”

“Aw, you missed me?”

“I meant _everyone_ ,” she said, uttering her usual noise of disgust. But after a moment, she softened a little, rolling her eyes almost playfully. “But all right, yes, I suppose I did. A bit. And yes, ‘my elf’ is well too, but weren’t we talking about you?”

“Yes, and as much as I do enjoy it, the look on your face makes me want details about you now. Don’t mind if I take notes.”

“Go away.” She laughed, however. “I want to get back to my book. Your book, rather.”

“Oh, is that the Orlesian thriller? Do you want to know how it ends?”

“Don’t you dare!” She grabbed the book and clutched it to her chest like a child with a toy. He was still laughing as he sauntered away.

* * *

It was an entertaining way to kill time while he awaited his wife’s arrival, wandering around and finding his friends. Cullen and Josephine were accompanying Bethany from Skyhold, but everyone else arrived in due course, and Varric found a sense of joy in greeting them all and dropping his double news on those who weren’t already informed. Dorian and Bull had been at the wedding, of course, and there was never any surprising Cole with anything, and Bethany had informed her advisors of everything already. But it was more fun than it had any right to be to shock the others, although none were as ready to dismiss him as an outright liar as Cassandra had been.

He didn’t blame her, though. Lying to Cassandra was practically a part of his job description at this point.

However, despite his excellent credentials, Varric had a bit of difficulty obtaining an audience with Divine Victoria. Eventually, Leliana became aware of just who was trying to come and see her, and she scolded the guard in her friend’s way. He chuckled as he bowed. “It’s good to see you, Most Holy.”

She chuckled in return, giving him a bright smile. “It’s good to see you too,” she said. “And please, I don’t stand on ceremony with friends. Besides, I miss being called ‘Nightingale,’” she added playfully.

“I think I can oblige. So… how’s Chantry life treating you?”

“It’s... interesting,” she said. “Everyone always needs something, of course, so in that regard it’s a little like being the Inquisition’s spymaster, just with more singing.” She chuckled. “And how are things in Kirkwall?”

“Similar, except without the singing,” he deadpanned. “But then again, knowing you, you’ve probably already heard that I’ve been pushed into a vacant throne.”

“I might have heard a few rumors.” She grinned. “It’s official, then?”

“I haven’t actually been crowned yet, but it’s as official as it can be without that aspect,” he acknowledged. “As I told Sunshine in my last letter, I’m refusing to let them give me the pointy hat for real until my wife is there with me to get her own matching one.”

“That seems entirely reasonable,” Leliana replied. “Have they arrived yet? I get the impression from the various staff members that the delegation has been sighted, but they were still a way off last I heard.”

“Well, then, your information is fresher than mine. Good to know, though, because I’m getting kind of twitchy.” Varric chuckled. “I imagine she’s given you all the details, meanwhile?”

“About the wedding?” The Divine nodded, smiling. “Yes. What a miracle the Maker provided – if you ask me, it’s a just reward for everything Bethany did. And you as well.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know how to feel half of the day,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been that shocked, except for the day we lost the Hawke boys in the first place. But I have to ask – were you surprised? About the wedding itself, I mean, obviously everyone was surprised by the other thing.”

“Probably not as surprised as you may have thought I would be, no,” she replied.

“Interesting.” Varric was more amused than anything. “That begs a follow-up question, then – how did you know? I thought I was keeping it pretty quiet; as far as that goes, it was a long time before I even knew it. You probably would have loved to see my face when the copper dropped.”

“I see all and notice everything.” She shrugged, still smiling. “And some of the way you two behaved towards one another reminded me a bit of certain old friends who also discovered their feelings for one another during the worst of times. It wasn’t hard for me to put the pieces together.”

“Hm.” He digested that. “I think for a long time I was too busy _worrying_ to do anything else, emotionally. You have no idea what it did to me to find out that the mage the soldiers found with the glowy hand was _my Sunshine_. And then shit just kept happening. It was madness.”

“Yes. Yes, it was.” She sighed at that, a deeply contemplative and almost sad sound. “And you’re right, I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to know it was her. You were always there for her, though.”

“Of course, I was determined to be. Her brother was – and is again – my best friend. Setting aside any affection I had for her, that alone meant I had to look after her.” He paused, and smiled faintly. “That said, my affection for her was always pretty strong. I didn’t nickname her _Sunshine_ for nothing.”

“Indeed.” The smile returned to Leliana’s own features as well. “Now you get to have sunshine in your life all the time.”

“Lucky me.” It was said without a trace of snark.

* * *

By the time the Inquisitor's party reached Halamshiral, the rest of the inner circle was aware of the situation, and they had responded to the news with varying levels of disbelief, delight, and smug satisfaction. Varric was at a loss to explain just why so many of them were able to claim that they “knew it,” but he shrugged it off. All that mattered was that they were together again and that his sunny Viscountess would get to be happy for a little while. The Exalted Council promised to be even more exhaustingly dull than he’d feared, to say nothing of downright insulting in places, but at least they could celebrate with the friends they had missed.

However, Varric hadn’t missed _anybody_ the way he had missed Bethany, and it was a real test of his willpower to not hunt her down at the first possible opportunity. She had to be allowed to make her own way through the gardens to where they were housed, greet people in her own time. He forced himself to be patient, waiting for her in their shared bower, until at last the fair face came into view. “There’s my Sunshine,” he said warmly, rising and extending his hands to her.

“There’s my dwarf,” she said with a sigh of something like relief, moving quickly to his embrace. “Maker’s breath, it’s good to see you, my lord of Kirkwall.”

“Oh, don’t start,” he laughed, drawing back so he could look at her closely. Lady Tethras looked a bit weary and careworn, but nothing he found too terribly worrisome. She was still beautiful, still smiling, and still sunshine-sweet. “We’ve spent more of our marriage apart than together, and I’m getting very tired of it.”

“You and me both, dear. How is everything in Kirkwall? Has my brother driven you out of your mind yet?”

“No, but unlike most of the rest of the people around me on a regular basis, he doesn’t seem to be actively trying, either. No more than usual, anyway,” he clarified. “Bran’s another story – and he’s here, so I can’t talk about him too much for fear he might be hiding in one of these potted shrubberies and eavesdropping.”

They paused, glancing around, but as far as Varric could tell there was no seneschal in evidence. “I think we’re safe for the moment,” said his wife, amused.

“Yeah, just wait. He’ll find us.”

“Never mind him for a moment. Let’s sit down,” she suggested, nodding toward the bench. “I have no idea how long I’ll have to be alone with you and I’m going to savor every second of it.”

“I suppose everyone wants some of your attention,” he said. The idea made him just faintly gloomy.

“As good as it’s been to see everyone, yes.” Bethany gave a little musical sigh as she eased onto the bench and planted herself against his shoulder. “Oh, that’s much better. Anyway, Josephine wants to take me to an Antivan opera while we’re here. From the sound of things, she can pull a couple of strings to get some good seats, and she thinks I’m entitled to a night off – either that or she just can’t get anyone else to go with her. I’m honestly not sure which.”

“It’s Antivan opera. If half the rumors I’ve heard are anywhere close to true,” Varric warned, “you’re going to want to magic yourself some earplugs or something. I hear there’s a lot of explosions in these things.”

“Sounds riveting,” she said dryly. “Dorian nearly crushed my ribs with his hug – and then complained about Bull doing the same thing to him. Oh, Maker, they are precious.” She giggled. “The way Dorian describes it, Bull is a big softy who likes to talk about his feelings. And of course Dorian likes it _so_ much more than he wants to admit.”

“I’ll have to put that in the book somewhere. Maybe right after Sparkler’s threat about turning me into a toad if I misspelled his name.”

“Did… did that actually happen?”

“You’ll probably be happier if you never know for sure.” Varric chuckled. “What else?”

“Well, I already wrote you about Cullen being married, of course. His wife is here with him, as you might expect, and they’re ridiculously happy – which is really nice, I don’t think Cullen’s ever _been_ ‘ridiculously happy’ before.” She smiled at the mental image.

“Yeah, I told the Nightingale that I was thinking of asking Curly if he wants to have a double celebration for just our close friends. Pretty sure I can get Bran to scare up some cake from someplace – and if he can’t, I’d be willing to bet our beloved Divine could.”

“That’s a lovely idea. Meanwhile, Vivienne wants me to spend a few hours with her in the palace spa tomorrow, she says I deserve some pampering and she wants to hear all the details about our wedding.” Bethany paused, and then giggled again. “Cassandra wants to hear them too, but I think that’s more a case of wanting to get some kind of confirmation that whatever you told her isn’t a _complete_ lie.”

“Madam! Would I lie about something so important?”

“To Cassandra? Yes, absolutely you would.”

“Well… maybe. But I didn’t.”

She smiled again, and patted his arm. “I know. It’s possible that you _might_ have exaggerated a tiny bit, however. You can’t help it, it’s just part of your charm.”

“At least you admit that I _have_ charm, unlike Cassandra.”

Bethany laughed, putting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much, Varric.”

“I missed you too, Milady Sunshine.”


End file.
